The Perks of Being a Telepath
by Dark Satirist
Summary: Post-XMFC. In the present, Charles and Erik are working as secret mutant operatives trying to bring peace and safety to the world. In the past, they are trying to deal with the events of Cuba and rediscover their friendship.
1. No Negotiations Necessary

_Right. If you believe I own X-Men and have the rights to the movie, then I'm not going to burst your bubble. I am not going to attempt to understand the mental disorder you have—no offense, but if you seriously think someone as rich as the person who actually does the owning of X-Men writes for FanFiction… then there's something wrong with you—but you are more than welcome to believe that delusion if you so wish._

_For all of you who don't believe that I own X-Men, then I'm not going to continuously remind you with annoying little disclaimers that serve absolutely no purpose other than to point out the obvious. This is my one and only disclaimer for the rest of this story (however long that may be)._

_Next on the agenda for this author's note is the styling of this story. It's something brand new that I have never done before, so if this entire format sucks… then, you're just going to have to deal with it until I change back to my normal writing style. I personally, am enjoying this rambling dialogue interspersed with random details, so… I'm going to keep writing it._

_This will be updated on Fridays only until further notice._

_For those of you who have done some pre-reading on this fic, you'll recognize the first part of this chapter (and the first part of the next couple of chapters). For those of you who haven't, too late! It's kind of like Pottermore, where that early registration stuff (and early reading) is only for a limited time only. It is now taken down._

_Also, I am using some of the stuff from the beach scene in this chapter and the next couple. You'll understand where I'm going with it soon enough._

_Also, review!_

_PS: I won't usually do page-long author's notes—just in the beginning or if I've been gone a long time._

_Now, for your regularly scheduled broadcast._

* * *

><p><strong>The Perks of Being a Telepath<strong>

**Chapter 1: No Negotiations Necessary **

"The CIA does not negotiate with terrorists."

Blue eyes stared stonily back into his own, unsettling cold on the otherwise boyish, open face.

"I assure you, I am not a terrorist."

Soft spoken, yet steel rang in his voice. Despite his youthful expression, this man was firm in his beliefs.

"You blew up three different American government properties. If that is not an act of terrorism, then what is?"

A look of disbelief, followed by another unsettling cold look.

"A government that fails to abide the rights of its people."

It was his turn to be disbelieving.

"You are not human beings, therefore the law does not include you."

The boyish man in front of him rolled his eyes as if this was one argument he had heard countless of times before. Perhaps he had, but that didn't make it any less true.

"Or false."

The two simple words made him reach for his gun.

"You read minds."

A heavy sigh, followed by the movement of a chapped, bloodied hand to move his ridiculously long hair out of his face.

"You insult my intelligence."

The air of British snobbery about this man—_mutant_—was almost laughable. Did he not understand the situation?

"I assure you, I do. Perhaps even better than you."

Annoyance that this _mutant_ thought he was better than everyone else. Better than him.

"When I have evidence that proves to the contrary, I will revaluate my thoughts."

This _mutant_ was infuriating.

"And I will continue to be until you acknowledge that I am neither a terrorist nor lesser in being than you, Agent McCone."

"Then it appears we have come to an impasse, Xavier. Shall I proceed under the assumption that you will not cooperate willingly?"

There was a moment of pause. It was not one of fear, McCone noticed, but one of deliberation. Charles Xavier was not afraid of him.

"Why should I be?"

A challenge spoken softly and in a British accent was still a challenge nonetheless. And McCone had never taken a challenge sitting down.

"A rather cruel thought, given the _situation_."

Was that _laughter_?

"Yes. You intend to bully me into being afraid of you, yet there is nothing that you can do to me that would be worse than what I have already experienced."

McCone looked over the rims of his glasses, taking a real look at the man (_mutant_) who sat in front of him wearing an tattered and stained orange jumpsuit. Long and ragged brown hair hung over a gaunt face that at one time would have been filled with boyish mischief. A thin, malnourished frame leaned casually, yet proudly against the back of a metal chair. Handcuffs chafed against thin, bloodied wrists that rested on the folding table between them. Long legs dangled limply from the chair, where handcuffs sat open and useless against the paralyzed limbs.

The most frightening sight, however, wasn't the obviously underfed body or the paralyzed legs, nor the gaunt face, nor the incomprehensible smugness.

It was the eyes. Startling blue eyes shone out of their sunken sockets, revealing the intelligence that went behind a PhD in genetics from Oxford and the spark of rebellion that McCone saw in most terrorists. But the most unsettling of all was the _pity_. Charles Xavier, a mutant, captured and beaten, finally at the end of his rather lengthy rope, pitied _John_ _McCone_, CIA agent, and leader of the mutant capture.

"Yes, it is rather ironic, isn't it?"

Charles was grinning. It wasn't a pleasant sight—blood caked his face and seeped from a cut inside of his mouth.

McCone glared, which only caused Charles to let out a short, bitter laugh.

"Shut up."

The words leapt out of McCone's mouth before he had the chance to stop him. He glared at Charles, who tapped a finger knowingly to his head.

"You know as well as I do that I can't use that power at the moment. You've made sure of that."

McCone smirked.

"It is one of my more useful inventions. You might be powerful enough to still be able to read my mind, but there is no way you can control me anymore."

The telepath smiled once more, more of a feral grin than an actual expression of pleasure.

"Have you ever played chess, Mr. McCone?"

The CIA agent furrowed his brow in confusion.

"Yes."

The door behind the telepath seemed to have swung open on its own accord.

"I do believe you find yourself in a tricky position, John—may I call you John?"

McCone growled in response.

"I daresay that your manners leave something to be desired."

A shadow appeared on the white cinderblocks outside of the office. It was a tall, dark shadow that was menacing in its appearance.

"You have three options, John."

The shadow grew closer. McCone's hand went to his gun.

"One, you can shoot me now and then try to take down whatever threat lays outside of that door. I assure you, if you do shoot me, then the aftermath won't be very pleasant for you."

The shadow gave way to a booted foot and a fatigue-clad leg. The metal folding table seemed to vibrate with anticipation. McCone belatedly realized that it was _actually_ vibrating.

"Two, you can simply let me go."

McCone took his eyes off the door to stare incredulously at the man in front of him.

"Or three, you can start a war you have no hope of winning."

The foot and leg entered the room seconds before their owner—a very tall, very thin, very _imposing_ looking man who had a metal disk orbiting his head.

McCone stared in shock at the man with the disk to Charles and back again.

The image of a badly beaten Charles suddenly gave way to a handsome, boyish looking man with well-groomed hair, who was in perfect health.

"You said you played chess, John," he said as he rose haltingly from his chair. "You are in what I believe is called checkmate."

McCone's mouth fell open.

"Charles, dear, I do believe Raven is getting anxious," the metal wielder said from behind the telepath. "Can you find it in your damnable courtesy to hurry the hell up?"

"Now, Erik, darling, I wouldn't want to rush the director of the CIA in such an important decision," Charles replied. He looked to McCone. "What is your choice?"

McCone dropped the gun.

The last thing he was aware of was a very compelling voice telling him to go to sleep, and then he knew no more.

* * *

><p>The smell of smoke and oil combined with the wreckage of a giant submarine and a state of the art stealth plane ruined the otherwise calm, tropical Cuban beach. In the distance, two naval ships sat on either side of an imaginary line in the water. One ship bore an American flag, the other a Russian. In between them lay the smoking wreckage of a second Russian naval ship.<p>

The silence was broken by a high pitch scream filled the air, vibrating the very molecules in the air and the water, seconds before a misshapen _flying _man crashed into the sandy beach. Upon closer inspection, it was actually a _boy_ in his late teen, dressed in a yellow and blue jumpsuit with wings, hence the misshapen appearance. One wing had a huge hole in the webbed fabric.

At his feet lay a muscular, sandy blond teen who wasn't much older. He had a perfect circular hole in the front of his blue and yellow jumpsuit.

What sounded like a giant dragonfly, but was in actuality a flying girl dressed in a skimpy black dress reverberated above them. The boy without the wings stood up with a grunt and sent a flash of red light toward the girl, who crumpled to the ground with a whimper.

There was a loud _crack_, and suddenly, a blood red man with a forked tail and dressed in all black appeared on the beach, battling a large, _furry and blue—_lion dressed in a blue and gold jumpsuit.

"Azazel!"

A sharp man in a metal helmet that looked absolutely ridiculous barked the single word from the shadows of the plane wreckage.

The red man stopped, his eyes widening as he looked at the man in front of him. He disappeared for a moment with a crack and reappeared in mid-air above the blue lion, who calmly knocked the red man out with a punch of his fist.

The sharp man melted into a blue girl with bright red hair who threw the blue lion a grin.

Seconds later, an agonizing cry split the air, followed by an overwhelming sensation of pain and betrayal that swept over all of the members on the beach. The emotions and the feelings were staggering, sending the four conscious people on the beach to their knees, clutching at their heads.

* * *

><p>Charles sighed heavily as he watched Director John A. McCone drop to the desk with a snore. He absently rubbed his temples to attempt to alleviate the steady throb that had sprung into existence the day before.<p>

"Charles?"

He glanced at Erik, who was staring at him with a mixture of concern and anxiety, a look Charles was becoming all too familiar with as of late.

"It's fine."

Charles should have known better than to hide anything from Erik—the man knew him too well. They had been the best of friends for the better part of three years now, ever since Charles had rescued Erik from the submarine that fateful night where so much changed for them all.

"Lying doesn't become you."

"And being a mother hen doesn't suit you, either. I am _fine_, Erik."

Intense blue-gray eyes bore steadily into stubborn blue, neither willing to back down. Charles knew that his headache was something he had to deal with until they returned to their hideout, while Erik's concern was more than justified. Last time Charles had overdone it, he had slipped into a coma for three weeks.

Surprisingly, Erik was the one who looked away first. He understood, perhaps better than anyone, how important Charles was on a mission such as this, where telepathic illusions were the first line of defense. If Charles couldn't handle it, then it wasn't just the two of them at stake—it was the others, breaking into the building and helping to rescue the captured mutants. And Charles wouldn't risk them. Erik knew that. Especially after the events with Shaw.

"We're running out of time. Did you get anything useful?"

Charles rolled his eyes, immediately regretting the action when it caused a lightning bolt of pain to shoot across his skull. By the grace of whatever god that was looking out for Charles, Erik didn't notice.

"Have I ever given you any cause to doubt me?"

Erik gave the barest hints of a smile as he shook his head.

"No."

Charles did smile, albeit softly.

"You _can_ trust me, Erik," he murmured. "I won't betray you. Not now, not ever."

A high-pitched scream effectively cut off the rest of their heartfelt, though rather out of place conversation.

"That's the signal," Erik said grimly.

Sean's scream was the all clear. They would meet no resistance on their way out.

Charles sighed. This was becoming ridiculously easy.


	2. Too Easy

_Note: The first part of this chapter takes place about two months after the last chapter._

_Also… all the chapters are going to be between 3 and 5 pages, probably not longer and definitely not shorter. _

_YOU GUYS ARE AMAZING! I love you all. Thank you so much for the reviews and the alerts. Hopefully I don't disappoint! _

**The Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 2: Too Easy**

_This is too easy. Something's wrong_.

Charles heard Erik's mental grimace as they stealthily made their way out of yet another CIA complex. They had already encountered a couple of the operatives, but Erik had easily dispatched them. It was if they weren't even trying to contain them.

From experience, both Charles and Erik knew that the government had the means to control telepaths and metal wielders.

"We are almost to the exit."

Erik spared him a glance. Charles saw the uneasiness plain in the German's face, a fact that worried him. Erik rarely displayed his emotions so openly.

"That does not make me feel any better, my friend."

There was a high pitched scream, this time close by. Charles reached out with his mind, stunned when he found that he was unable to reach Sean's mind.

"Charles?"

Charles waved Erik off, reaching instead for Raven's mind. There was nothing.

Fear rising in his throat, Charles reached for Erik's mind, which he had just felt moments ago. There was nothing.

"Charles?"

Erik placed a hand on the telepath's shoulder.

"Erik, I can't feel them."

The admission came out in a croaky whisper.

"What?"

Erik's shock was visible in his widened eyes.

"I can't feel Sean or Raven or… _you_."

No sooner had he gotten the words out, there was a loud, sudden klaxon, right before large doors slid down, cutting both Erik and Charles off from their escape, and from Raven and Sean.

"Erik?"

The doors weren't metal.

Charles didn't have to be a telepath to feel the frustration and horror flooding off Erik in steady waves.

They were trapped.

_Checkmate_.

* * *

><p>A stunned, pained silence reigned over the beach, broken only by the heavy breathing of all the conscious individuals on the beach.<p>

The blue girl and blue lion exchanged horrified glances, while the other two kept a fearful, watchful eye on both the plane and the submarine.

"Hank," the blue girl whispered.

Before the lion—Hank—had the chance to reply, a man with long, boyish brown hair dressed in a blue and yellow jumpsuit stumbled out of the plane, his blue eyes wide and wild with panic. A woman in a gray jumpsuit followed, looking horrified and worried.

"Charles," the blue girl began.

The man, Charles, shook his head. His face was pale as he paused for a moment to catch his breath.

"I'm all right, Raven," he said quietly.

Raven looked disbelieving, but before she had the chance to reply, a man who was very obviously dead floated out of the submarine. He had a red line in the center of his forehead with a single drop of blood slipping down his face.

A second man floated behind him, dressed in a blue and yellow jumpsuit. On his head, he wore a metal helmet that looked absolutely ridiculous on his grave face.

Raven looked from the first man to Charles and back again, her yellow eyes widening in cold, horrified realization.

"Today, our fighting stops!"

It was the tall man in the yellow jumpsuit and ridiculous helmet that spoke as he came to a gentle stop on the ground.

"Take off your blinders, brothers and sisters."

The unconscious men and girl slowly got to their feet and huddled together on one side of the beach. Raven, Hank, and the two boys stood together behind Charles.

"The real enemy is out there! I feel their guns moving in the water. Their metal, targeting us. Americans, Soviets… _humans_. United in their fear of the unknown."

Charles stopped at the edge of the beach, as did the helmeted man.

"The Neanderthal is running scared, my fellow mutants!"

The helmeted man glanced at Charles, a sad, but determined look on his face.

"Go ahead, Charles. Tell me I'm wrong."

Charles lifted a hand to his temple, knowing what he would find, and horrified when Erik's words became true.

* * *

><p>Charles woke to the sound of shouting and crying nearby. Disoriented and just barely awake, he rolled over, intent on getting out of bed and going to find whoever was in trouble.<p>

It took him until he hit the cold, concrete floor to realize that he was not in his bedroom at the Westchester mansion and the cacophony of sound was coming from inside his head.

"Nice of you to finally join the living, Charles."

The telepath started and then relaxed as he reached out to touch a familiar mind. He looked up from his position to the floor to see Erik sitting in the far corner, his arms crossed and his legs stretched out in front of him. He had a bruise beginning to form on his left temple, which caused his left eye to be nearly swollen shut. His nose looked broken.

"What happened, Erik?"

Charles winced as he pulled himself up to a slightly more dignified position. He realized that he probably didn't look much better than Erik.

"What we feared would happen."

The two had often entertained the idea of what would happen if they were caught during one of their 'terrorism' episodes, if Charles' illusions failed, if they were trapped like they had been.

"This day keeps getting better and better."

His head still hurt, to go along with the plethora of other aches and pains he had as a result of their capture.

"Raven and Sean escaped."

Charles widened his eyes in relieved surprise, before he glared at Erik, realizing what must have happened.

"You should have gone with them."

He hated it when Erik decided to play hero—because it always involved Charles being the damsel in distress and the telepath hated to think of himself that way.

Erik rolled his eyes. Charles, for a moment, hated his friend for being able that small luxury without wanting to scream.

"Would you have left if they had drugged me?"

Charles sighed wearily. They both knew the answer to that question.

"I can take care of myself, Erik."

Erik chuckled, a dark and humorless chuckle.

"That remains to be seen."

Charles took a moment to take stock of his surroundings and his injuries. He knew well enough by now that the government agents were never gentle in bringing in the mutants—they didn't believe they had to be since strictly speaking the mutants weren't human.

It seemed as though his ribs had taken the brunt of the abuse this time around, which was consistent with being drugged and falling to the floor. He was fairly certain that one was broken—someone had probably kicked him to make sure he was actually unconscious—and the others were just bruised.

"The doors were made of Plexiglas. That's a new one."

Charles blinked, taking in a small cell that was barely big enough for one occupant, let alone two, before his eyes focused back on Erik.

"It's a new age."

"It means they're adapting to us."

"If it makes you feel any better, they must have had mirrors built into the wall and I was completely useless."

"You're always completely useless, Charles."

"Thanks for that, Erik."

"You are quite welcome."

They were silent for a minute.

"The drug is wearing off faster this time."

"Which drug? Your telepathy inhibitor that they insist on shooting at _both_ of us every time we break in or the one Hank came up with to let you walk again?"

Charles was quiet.

"Charles?"

"Hank's."


	3. Pain

_For those of you who read ahead, you'll recognize parts of this chapter. Also, I won't be able to respond to your reviews for this chapter and chapter 2 until next week some time. I am currently at a horse show and am going to be uber busy all weekend. _

**The Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter ****3: ****Pain**

Pain. Nothing but white hot, blinding, _agonizing_ pain filled Charles' mind as he fell face first into the sand.

_"__I__'__m __sorry.__"_

He was distantly aware of shouting before there were strong arms wrapping around him and the bullet was _gently_ pulled out of his back, but then the pain overtook his consciousness once more and threatened to send him into darkness.

"You did this!"

Erik's voice was harsh, making Charles flinch with a different type of pain. He forced his eyes open, horrified to find Moira being strangled on her dog tags. There had to be symbolic of something, but Charles was too far gone to consider it. His English professor at Oxford would have been scandalized, but then, that stuffy old man had never had to watch his _best __friend_ strangle someone he cared about.

"Please, she didn't do this."

Erik looked at Charles, confusion and defiance visible in his eyes.

"Erik, you did."

In the distance, he heard Moira gasping for air as the metal wielder released her dog tags. Pain made his vision cloudy, but he could have sworn he saw tears in Erik's eyes, if only for a moment.

_I__'__m __sorry __my __friend_.

"Us turning on each other, it's what they want."

_It__'__s __not.__They __just __want __this __pain __to __go __away._ Or was that him?

"I tried to warn you, Charles. I want you by my side. We're brothers, you and I. All of us, together. Protecting each other."

_That__'__s __what __we __were __doing __until __you __drove __a __coin __through __my __skull. _Shaw's skull.

"We want the same thing."

"My friend, I'm sorry. We do not."

Charles looked into Erik's shocked, yet resigned eyes, wanting him to know that Charles didn't blame him. Charles had known all along he and Erik were fundamentally different—he had just prayed that they would be given enough time to perhaps change Erik's mind.

They weren't. And that was perhaps the greatest tragedy of that day.

* * *

><p>Erik was the first one they lost. Alex was the second.<p>

It took the better part of a year for Charles to forgive himself after they lost Alex. It hadn't been his fault, or really anyone's—Alex had been drafted into the Vietnam War and forced to go overseas after the events in Cuba. But when the young mutant had stepped on a landmine, Charles had taken the entire thing personally. He had felt as though he should have done more to stop Alex, but instead, he had encouraged Alex to go.

Alex was a week away from being returned home when he stepped on the mine that had taken his life.

Charles, who had been working on increasing the range of his telepathy, had felt every single moment of Alex's death.

It was shortly thereafter that Erik decided to come back.

* * *

><p>They took Erik away first. They must have realized he had been in a concentration camp and tortured, thus needing more persuasion to break.<p>

It showed how little the government actually knew about Charles Xavier.

Charles was caught in a state between boredom and pain, sleep and alertness, telepathy and not being able to use his abilities at all. He hit the extremes of all of them, which left him exhausted and shaking by the time Erik was returned in a semi-conscious state to a practically destroyed cell.

Erik raised an eyebrow once the guards left.

"I was bored."

His voice was hoarse from lack of water. He wouldn't admit to it—but he had screamed his frustration at the cell walls and that probably hadn't helped matters much.

"Clearly, the government needs a lesson in how to entertain caged telepaths properly if they wish to cut back in their annual spending."

Charles let out a laugh, but it was full of bitterness and didn't suit him whatsoever. He changed the subject.

"What happened?"

Erik looked really no worse than he did when he left over two hours ago. In fact, if anything, his face was cleaner and there was less blood on his shirt.

"Interrogation."

Charles let out another dark laugh.

"Is that all?"

Erik smiled slightly. Honestly, it was a completely creepy smile that sent shivers down Charles' spine that had nothing to do with how bloody cold the cell was.

"I was told they weren't to question you until you snapped out of your momentary insanity. So if I didn't answer their questions, they would just give you more drugs until your brain melted."

Unfortunately, Charles' telepathy had cut out about two seconds before Erik had been returned to the cell, so he wasn't able to discern if Erik was making fun of him or not. On the other hand, it was probably a good thing that Erik hadn't been there to witness just how powerful an out of control telepath could be—Charles was fairly certain that the guard outside the door was convinced he was a chicken and would be for the rest of his life.

"Relax, Charles. You're projecting. And yes, I was kidding."

Charles sighed.

* * *

><p>He couldn't feel his legs. He could feel the pain radiating from the bullet wound all the way up his spine and taking over his mind, but he couldn't feel his legs.<p>

He let out a cry of pain when Moira, Sean, and Alex attempted to move him and almost gave Hank a hug when he ordered them not to do that.

"Don't move him."

Charles let out another gasp of pain. He hated how weak he sounded, but bullet wounds freaking _hurt_.

"I-I can't feel my legs."

The words were out of his mouth before had time to fully realize what he was going to say.

He felt their surprise and shock and the beginnings of what would be betrayal and hate and years of family therapy—_were__they__a__family__anymore_?—before the denial and the _oh__god__no__not__Charles_ set in.

"What?"

They didn't want it to be true, any more than he did. But wishing it away didn't actually make it go away.

"I _can__'__t __feel __my __legs_."


	4. Interrogations

_For those of you who read ahead, you'll recognize parts of this chapter. Actually, you'll probably recognize most of this chapter. And, for the record, I have a particular fondness for this chapter, so if you like it too, feel free to let me know! _

_Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed! Your words mean the world to me! _

**The Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 4: Interrogations**

Charles had talked to Director McCone many times since his arrest four weeks ago. The man was beyond angry that Charles had managed to make a mockery out of him, but was satisfied to some extent that he had managed to dupe the mutants in the end.

Now, he wanted to know how Charles had done it. Charles, who was nearing the end of his rope, still had enough left in him to make rather snide comments about the intelligence of the CIA.

God help him, but Erik was beginning to rub off on him.

"Mr. Xavier."

"I prefer Charles. It's been a month now. I'm sure we've moved past the awkward last name stage and onto a first name basis. Don't you, John?"

His snarky attitude, like most times, earned him a smack to his face. For once, Charles wished that he had his paralysis there instead of in his legs so he wouldn't have to feel the pain from the CIA director's blows.

"I am going to make you a deal, Mr. Xavier."

"Seriously, it's Charles. Mr. Xavier was my father, may he rest in peace wherever he is. And I thought the CIA doesn't negotiate with terrorists."

"I thought you weren't a terrorist."

"Strictly speaking, I don't commit acts of terror. I prevent them. You, on the other hand, condone acts of terror. Shouldn't you be rounding up and not negotiating with yourselves?"

The only thing more nerve-wracking than a sarcastic telepath was the tall, imposing German who could possibly control metal.

"Where did you come from?"

Silence.

"Did you immigrate legally?"

More silence.

"How did you get your powers?"

Fingers drummed slowly against the table.

"Where did you meet Charles Xavier?"

Fingers drummed slightly faster.

"How long have you known Mr. Xavier?"

Arms crossed.

"How long have you had your powers?"

Left foot tapped the floor.

"What exactly are your powers?"

Blink.

"Who are you?"

Impassive face.

"Are there other mutants out there?"

An eyebrow raised in mockery.

"Where are the other mutants?"

His right arm rested on the table. His sleeve was pushed up far enough so that a small line of numbers became visible. Metal vibrated ominously in the interrogation room.

* * *

><p>Charles was fluent in ten different languages, passable in three more, and could probably scrape by as a heavily accented tourist in a handful of others.<p>

Erik lost count of how many different languages he heard the telepath swear in the second he opened the front door to his ridiculously large mansion.

It was six months after what was now referred to as the Cuban Missile Crisis. Erik hadn't spoken to Charles or really any of the other mutants since that time, short of asking Hank three weeks after the disaster if Charles was still alive.

Hank had replied with a gruff yes that held the connotation of _death_ should the metal wielder come close to the Westchester home again before hanging up.

Thus, Erik did not know about the wheelchair, nor did he know that Alex had died two weeks before, or that Sean had been forced to return home. Nor had he heard that Charles was battling with a severe case of depression as a result of both his confinement to his wheelchair and losing yet another family member, that Alex's funeral had been the day before, or that Hank had almost gotten himself killed in a lab accident that morning.

At least, he hadn't until Charles opened the door.

Erik had left the helmet at his secret mutant base and was flooded with the memories the second Charles realized it was Erik outside.

Forced to his knees from the sheer _weight_ of it all, Erik wondered how his—how Charles had survived it all.

"What are you doing here?"

Charles, for the first time since Erik had known him, was not being polite.

Though given the past few months he had had, Erik could hardly blame him.

"I don't know."

Charles had something akin to a glare on his face as he released his hold on Erik's mind. The metal wielder stood cautiously.

"Where's Raven?"

"She didn't know I was coming. Nor did I."

Charles raised an eyebrow. Erik shifted uncomfortably.

"Well, Hank's resting and there's no one else here, so you're not going to be kill—you're not going to have a fight on your hands if you come inside."

Erik could only watch with guilt-ridden eyes as Charles wheeled himself around and rolled further into the house.

"You are going to cause a scandal if you remain out there too much longer. And take off that ridiculous cape—you look absurd."

"You want one."

"Not on your life."

Erik almost smiled. _This_ was the Charles he remembered.

He guardedly stepped inside the mansion and closed the door behind him.

* * *

><p>It was easy to come across as perfectly all right, even when things weren't. Charles knew this from experience. Too many pain-filled nights coupled with early morning track practices and hiding things from an overly nosey sister who meant well taught him the value of being able to lie. It didn't even have to be a particularly good lie and he rarely had to rely on his telepathic abilities to make the lie stick. When people asked if he was all right, they rarely wanted to know the answer. Not even Raven, who loved Charles dearly, truly wanted to know what Kurt Markos had done in the dead of night, because she wouldn't have been able to live with herself if she had known.<p>

Being in a cell constituted as far from all right. The cell meant the possibility of interrogation, torture, and other unpleasant things that Charles hated to think about, but wasn't actually naïve enough to ignore. He had seen and experienced enough from Erik's memories to understand the true dread behind the government constructed 10 x 10 cinderblock room.

And Charles himself was far from all right. He had been exposed to many telepathic inhibitors over the past three years—the government always liked to experiment on new ways of controlling said telepaths instead of gaining cooperation—but that didn't make the effects any less powerful every time he was given them. And it also didn't help that he was one of the most powerful telepaths in existence—and that wasn't arrogance either—and therefore developed an allergy to the stupid drugs.

The effects ranged from mild dizziness and slight disorientation to full blown hallucinations, uncontrollable telepathy, blackouts, and nausea.

The effects this time were somewhere in between.

Combined with the fact that the serum Hank had created that gave Charles the ability to walk again was wearing off, Charles was left with a constant, blinding headache, shaking and sore limbs, and barely able to stand, let alone hike the three miles to the interrogation room in the pouring rain like the government wanted him to.

Was it any wonder that he blacked out on the way back and had been dragged through the mud?

Erik had become mildly concerned (actually, he had come close to a full blown panic attack, resolved only by Charles' sudden, but well-timed awakening or otherwise the metal structures holding their cell together would have collapsed and killed everyone—including them) and asked if Charles would be all right.

From experience, Charles knew that he could lie and probably make Erik believe that he was fine, even if it meant a little telepathy involved.

But Erik was one of those rare people who not only knew when Charles was lying, but actually cared enough to want to know if he was all right. And Charles really didn't have that much control over his telepathy any more when it did decide to work for him, so erasing Erik's memory about the lie was out.

Honesty it was then.

"No."

They drifted off into silence, broken only by Charles' ragged breathing. Erik had long since given up his manic pacing to sit next to Charles and place a comforting hand on his heaving shoulders.

"Erik…"

The comforting hand turned into a clenched fist as Charles brought up the age old argument of the possibility and logic of Erik escaping on his own.

"Don't, Charles."

"Don't be daft. The others are going to need you."

"They need you more."

Charles really wished the room would stop spinning and Erik really needed to stop drifting out of focus. It was already hard enough to concentrate with the lives of every single mutant in a ten yard radius pushing for attention in his mind.

"We both know I won't be worth anything when the time comes."

"Then I'll carry you out."

"That's not exactly what I meant."

"You are not going to become a martyr for the mutant race, Charles."

"Nor are you going to become noble on account of me."

They had reached their familiar stalemate, the one they usually reached in arguments such as these. Both men were stubborn to a fault and both believed that they alone were right.

"Do you honestly believe Raven will let me leave you behind?"

"Do you honestly think she or you will have a choice in the matter?"

"You promised never to control us."

Old arguments that never died. They would both do what they thought was right.

"Promise me one thing, Erik."

"I cannot do that in good faith when I know what you are going to ask me."

"You don't believe in faith."

"Don't be coy, Charles."

Charles paused long enough to close his eyes and quell the dizziness before continuing.

"I don't want you to see me die, Erik."

It was a quiet, heartfelt admission that almost broke both of them.

"Who's to say that you are going to die?"

Images of the past three weeks since they had been captured and what the government had in store next for them filled both of their minds before Charles had the time to fully realize what was happening. He quickly severed the connection, but the damage had already been done.

"The CIA fears telepaths above all mutants."

"That's absurd. Who would fear you?"

His dark humor that was completely out of place, though it elicited sorrowful chuckles from the both of them.

"It appears, my friend, that the Americans don't have the same faith in me that you do. Or the lack of faith."

"I will not stand by and let them murder you."

Charles sighed heavily.

"I am not worth your life, Erik."

"You're worth more."

* * *

><p>The silence of the mansion made Erik feel distinctly uneasy, more so than the plastic wheelchair (it was obvious why Hank had constructed it that way) or the fact that Charles was <em>in<em> the wheelchair in the first place.

The last time Erik had been there, it had been full of laughter, tension, and above all else, _love_.

"A lot of things change."

"Stay out of my head."

There was a heavy sigh as they reached the library.

"I don't have to read your mind to know what you're thinking."

_What__we__'__re__all__thinking_.

The thought floated unbidden between them, but Erik decided not to comment on it. He wasn't entirely sure why he was here—he had wound up wandering the New York countryside after his last CIA government attack gone wrong—and stumbled upon the mansion by accident.

The fact that he hadn't brought his helmet just seemed like fate was calling out to him. So he decided not to push Charles, who was obviously on edge about Alex's death and Hank's injuries and Sean's disappearance.

They walked through the silent halls. Erik knew without asking that they were heading to the library.

"What happened to Hank?"

Charles closed his eyes and stopped his wheelchair. Erik could see the battle in his eyes about trusting the one man he once counted as his friend or protecting his family.

Erik knew which one Charles would choose. He didn't ask again.


	5. Rain

_As for the poll question: No matter how you want to break the story up, it's going to have the exact same story in either format. The three to four different stories would just be the split version of the entire 60+ chapter thing. I'm not changing anything plot-wise, just the location. As for the plot itself, there are already natural breaks in the story where I could break it off and start again in a new story as a continuation, because that's just how I write. Hopefully that helps clears things up a bit._

_Also, I may be increasing updates to twice a week. One on Friday and maybe another one on Tuesday. I realized the other day that I have enough chapters to last me for at least five months if I continue on this one chapter a week span, and it's still growing... and I'm also starting to get confused as to what you guys are talking about when you're reviewing, because I'm so far ahead now._

_This isn't normal for me, so expect maybe two chapters a week from here on out. At least for a little while._

_Warning: This one gets depressing._

_For the record, I think in XMFC, the agent Stryker in the CIA was supposed to be the Stryker in all of the other movies' father. Charles even mentioned it at one point… but all the fics I've read have just assumed it's the same person. Which, is impossible, seeing as he isn't even an old man until the second X-Men movie._

…_And don't I feel like a nerd for knowing that. _

**The Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 5: Rain**

The CIA was rebuilding Cerebro.

Charles caught a glimpse of the plans in a moment of lucidness, where the latest round of drugs had finally exited his system and he could get a better handle on his emotions.

Erik had been taken away for questioning an hour ago. Charles wasn't concerned—the agents questioning him were terrified of the tattoo on his arm and all that it implied. It would be shocking if the humans got Erik to do anything outside of glare at them.

Charles had been trying to forge a telepathic connection with some of the other mutants, but it was proving to be impossible. Even amongst mutants, telepaths were mistrusted, even feared. Charles knew and even understood—how could he not, after Emma Frost had betrayed them all?—but it still hurt to feel the sufferings of fellow mutants and be unable to help them.

Charles had been focusing so much of his power on monitoring Erik and trying to contact the mutant in the cell next to him that he almost didn't notice the two agents walking down the hallway with a handful of guards. If it hadn't been for the fact that Erik was still being questioned—always the same, nothing Erik couldn't easily ignore with an air of contempt—Charles wouldn't have thought anything of it.

But it was out of the ordinary. No one ever roamed the halls in this cell block—it was home to the more powerful and terrifying mutants.

_Are we ever going to be able to rebuild that mutant finding device?_

Charles knew that Hank was the only one with the knowledge of how to build Cerebro—he had made sure to destroy the plans for it in their first act of government vandalism just in case a situation like the one at hand happened.

_We finally caught the mutant responsible for it in the first place._

No. Please, god, no.

_That __furry __blue __lion __built __it? __That__'__s __impossible_.

Hank. They had caught Hank and they were going to force him to rebuild Cerebro.

* * *

><p>It was raining as Charles and Erik settled themselves into the library. Upon first glance, the wooden shelves, the desk, and the furniture hadn't changed. Closer inspection, however, revealed there was no longer a chess board on the table, some of the books on the shelves were missing, and the large leather chair behind the desk had been removed.<p>

"No one has been in the mood for chess in a while."

Erik tore his eyes away from the empty table and looked at Charles. The lamp behind him cast dark shadows on his face, making him look years older. A pinched, sorrowful look was plain on his face. Erik didn't need telepathic abilities to know that Charles was hurting.

"I'm sorry about Alex."

It was the wrong thing to say. Charles' face blanked and he rolled over to the window.

Erik stood motionless in the middle of the library, uncertain what to do.

"I'm surprised your telepath didn't tell you."

Bitterness and sarcasm tempered with the barely detectable sadness twisted Charles' face, visible only in the window reflection.

"So am I."

The real meaning in Erik's casual statement was impossible to ignore.

Charles sighed.

"I was talking about the dazzling Emma Frost."

"I wasn't."

They shared a heavy silence, where their memories of the last six months drifted between them.

"You weren't surprised about the chair."

"I pulled a bullet out of your back. Forgive me if I thought it a possibility you wouldn't walk again."

He had hoped that Charles would, but he knew realistically that it would have been impossible.

"You are annoyed by the plastic."

"Not annoyed. Curious, yes, but not annoyed."

"Why is that?"

"You're the telepath, you figure it out."

"Why you insist on creating double standards will forever be a mystery to me."

The anger Erik never expected from Charles radiated off of the telepath in hot waves as he wheeled around to look at Erik.

"What do you want me to say, Charles?"

"I don't _want_ you to say anything."

Silence.

"Let me ask you something, Erik. Why did you kill Shaw?"

More silence, followed by an incredulous look.

"You know why."

"No, I can honestly say I don't. I thought I knew why, but then it turns out, I was wrong."

"That must have been enlightening for you."

"You found me. I didn't find you. Cut the sarcasm."

"I don't know."

"Know what? Why you killed Shaw?"

"Why I found you."

The look on Charles' face said that he knew differently. Erik longed to ask, but he didn't think the intrusion would be welcome.

"You killed Shaw because he killed your mother."

"And?"

"I thought it would have been a far more noble reason that that."

"Don't make me into a hero that I'm not, Charles."

"Don't ask me to help you murder someone in the name of vengeance."

"What did you think I was after?"

"I thought you wanted to rid the world of Shaw, not become him."

"I have not become Shaw."

"Shaw wanted to rule the human race through fear and pain. Tell me, how have you done any different?"

Erik scowled, but was unable to say anything.

"Had I known that by allowing you to destroy Shaw I would be creating another monster—."

"You would have what? Let Shaw kill me? You don't have that in you."

"I let you kill Shaw."

"That's different, Charles. You knew what Shaw was capable of."

"And now, I know what you're capable of."

Another memory flashed through Erik's mind. White hot pain radiated from the base of his spine, filling his mind. Sand clung to his hands and he fell face first onto a white beach. What should have been a beautiful sight was marred by a wrecked plane, a destroyed submarine, and a beautiful woman being choked by her dog tags. Then there was a girl in blue with tears sliding down her face that was leaving, a sudden crack, and then he was alone, abandoned by the two people he had grown to count on the most.

The memory was broken with a gasp from Erik and a look of disappointment from Charles.

"What—what was that?"

"My memories from that day."

Erik shuddered as pain ghosted through him. He couldn't begin to understand how Charles could sit there so quietly after everything he went through.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It wasn't your fault."

"That's not what you said."

_Please. She didn't do this, Erik. You did._

* * *

><p>Charles pressed his fingers to his temple out of habit as he widened his mental powers, searching for Hank. He hadn't needed the gesture to focus his powers in well over a year and a half, but it still brought him a small amount of comfort.<p>

He didn't find a trace of Hank anywhere outside of what he had overheard in the CIA agents' conversation, which meant that Hank wasn't there.

"Charles?"

He hadn't heard Erik's return. He glanced up, shocked to find blood seeping steadily out of Erik's nose and his slowly fading bruises reforming with a vengeance.

"What happened?"

Erik grimaced as he sat down on the cot next to Charles.

"They switched agents midway through the interrogation. William Stryker was there."

Cold dread seeped over Charles like mud. Stryker was the one name in the CIA that Charles actually feared. Before he had wiped her memory, Moira had always spoken with fear of the Stryker family—both the older agent Charles had met during the good old days, and his son, William, who had a sadistic mind and a hatred toward the mutant race.

"Bloody hell, Erik."

Charles reached out with one hand and gently touched Erik's injured nose.

"They are getting impatient, Charles. They want answers."

"They should know by now using physical force on you isn't going to get them anywhere."

"I don't think it's me they want, Charles. Not this time."

_They__'__re __rebuilding __Cerebro. __Of __course __they __want __a __telepath __to __be __able __to __use __it_.

"It's been nearly two months. Surely Raven and the others have come up with a rescue plan by now."

Erik was talking again, but Charles barely heard him.

"Charles? Damn it, Charles, look at me."

Charles closed his eyes and opened his mind once more, ignoring Erik's concern as he brushed against Stryker's mind. Horror crashed over him as he realized what was going to happen.

_No. Please, no. _

"Charles!"

His hand fell from his temple and everything faded to black.

* * *

><p>"I didn't—I <em>don<em>_'__t_ blame you, Erik."

"You should."

"I _don__'__t_. Not for that. I don't blame you anymore than I blame Raven for choosing you. You were protecting yourself and I stood up at the wrong moment. There is nothing wrong with what you did."

"I don't—you honestly believe that."

"Does that really surprise you?"

They stared at each other again. Erik, with incredulity in his eyes, and Charles, with sadness and the barest hints of anger visible on his face.

"Then what are you mad about?"

Charles closed his eyes and sighed heavily. Opening his eyes again, he wheeled himself toward the bookshelves.

"The books that are missing—they were all of Raven's or yours. I meant to send them to you, but you didn't leave a forwarding address."

Erik was silent.

"You know, Erik, you took everything from me that day on the beach. My sister, my legs, my family. But I don't hate you for it."

"You should."

"I don't have it in me to hold a grudge like that."

"But you're mad at me anyway."

"There is that."

"I never meant to become like Shaw."

"I don't believe that."

"Excuse me?"

Charles glanced at Erik and then amended himself.

"You probably didn't consciously decide to become like him, but you share the same ideas. Have similar practices."

"I have _never_ tortured other mutants."

_That__'__s __debatable_.

"What about humans?"

Silence. Erik looked away, unable to answer.

"Erik, don't you see what you're becoming?"

More silence.

"Of course not. You're blinded by your hatred of the human race."

"I think I'm quite justified by that. They did fire missiles at us."

"Please. You stopped them quite easily enough. You have nothing to fear from them and you know it. You are creating this war between us and them because it's all you've ever known. Like Shaw."

Erik's mouth tightened into a thin line and his hands clenched into fists. What little metal remained in the room began to rise.

"You believe you are a god amongst men."

"I am."

Charles let out a short, bitter laugh.

"No, Erik. You're not."

"I have powers no other human—or mutant, for that matter—has."

"That doesn't make you a god. That doesn't give you the right to decide who lives and who dies, Erik. By choosing this path, you have become the people who killed your mother."

Erik turned on his heel and stormed out of the library. Charles let him go.


	6. Two Sides of The Same Coin

_This one is sad. And longer than normal. You are hereby warned._

_Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed! Your words mean the world to me. _

**The Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 6: Two Sides of the Same Coin**

Charles fought his way back to consciousness, feeling a migraine begin to take root in the base of his skull as he forced his eyes open. A metallic tang hit the back of his throat and he swallowed unconsciously, realizing belatedly that it was probably blood.

"Charles?"

He blinked, momentarily having forgotten that Erik had returned shortly before Charles had blacked out.

"I am all right, my friend."

Erik snorted in disbelief.

"I'm the tooth fairy."

"You would look absolutely ridiculous in a dress with wings."

"I think I could pull it off."

Charles almost smiled, before the cold reality of what had caused him to black out earlier hit him.

The government was going to kill Erik to get Charles to cooperate. That's why they had brought in Stryker, that's why they had decided to rebuild Cerebro, and that is why they thought they had won the war against mutants.

_No._

"Charles?"

There was that absurd concern in Erik's voice again, the one that made Charles both happy and annoyed.

"You are a conundrum, my friend."

Charles sighed. It really wasn't that surprising he was projecting, given the current state of things.

"It's not the CIA's fault you don't sleep. Or eat or do anything that would help you avoid death. They give you plenty of opportunities—unlike the rest of the mutants here—and you ignore them."

"Are you sure you don't have a hidden ability to read my mind?"

It was Erik's turn to sigh.

"It is not that hard when you have no control over your abilities and I can feel every single thought and memory in your mind."

Charles was quiet for a moment.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be—though it is your fault that you don't take care of yourself."

"How can I think about eating that ludicrous slop that passes as food when there's another mutant two cells down that doesn't even get that?"

"Charles-."

"And have you ever tried sleeping with twenty-seven, no twenty-_six_ minds all having nightmares about what's going to happen to them next?"

"Twenty-six?"

"You don't dream of anything anymore. I guess that's one thing to be grateful for."

Erik narrowed his eyes in annoyance.

"That's not what has you in this wonderful mood or blacking out, Charles, and you know it."

"I—they caught Hank."

There was no point in lying to Erik, even if he did not actually have the ability to read Charles' mind. He would find out soon enough—the CIA was planning to move the both of them to a more secure location within a couple of days.

"They are going to rebuild Cerebro."

It wasn't a question, nor was it a statement of despair. It was a calm, somewhat cold acceptance of the fact, almost as if Erik had been expecting this to happen.

"I was."

Charles resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"I was not aware that predicting the future was part of your ability to manipulate metal."

"It makes sense, Charles. If they want to end us, they first have to know where we are."

Charles sighed. His head hurt again.

"They are going to kill you if I don't cooperate."

"Don't even think about cooperating, Charles."

"I will not stand by and let them murder you."

Silence. Erik gave him a pointed look, which made Charles look away.

"We have to get out of here."

"Really, Charles? I don't know—I am starting to like it here. The décor is very tasteful."

Charles snorted and looked back to his friend.

"Only you would find drab cinderblocks tasteful."

"I don't feel the need to spend excessive amounts of money on trivial pursuits."

Charles almost rolled his eyes, before a more sobering thought hit him.

"I—They caught Hank, Erik."

"You have said that already."

"Hank was with the others."

Erik's eyes widened.

"Scheiße."

* * *

><p>Had it not been for a trip to a nearby park three weeks after Erik's departure from the mansion, Charles and Erik probably would have never spoken to each other again.<p>

Sean, Charles, Hank, and Erik had gone to the park for some reason or another—it was a small, private park where not a lot of other people went so Hank could get away from the mansion and Charles wouldn't have to deal with awkward questions. Erik had once again been wandering aimlessly around New York and wound up in the same place on accident.

It was raining and miserable and Charles honestly hadn't been expecting Erik to show up. He had been too preoccupied with making sure no one noticed Hank and the fact that it was raining that he had forgotten to notice anything outside of the immediate clearing they were staked out in.

"Charles."

Sean jumped and let out a yelp as the deep, German-accented voice carried across the clearing. Hank let out a growl, while Charles merely sighed and closed his eyes.

"What the fucking hell do you think you're doing here?"

Sean really had spent too much time with Alex before the other man's untimely death. He was beginning to sound a great deal like him.

"Sean, watch your language."

Maybe if he ignored Erik long enough, the man would go away.

"Charles."

Charles bit back the urge to forcefully control Erik to go away, reminding himself that he was the one who had pushed Erik away the last time.

"Hank, Sean, go."

"Professor!"

Charles opened his eyes and sent both of them a look. Sean looked mutinous for a second, before Hank tugged him away. Charles waited until he was certain they were out of earshot before looking at Erik.

The other man looked surprisingly normal, dressed in a black turtleneck and a pair of off-white pants. He was once again without his helmet.

Charles was beginning to suspect Ms. Frost had something to do with it.

"She's gone."

Charles blinked, not realizing that he had been projecting. Upon a quick glance into Erik's mind, he realized that he hadn't, that Erik had just coincidentally announced the fact that Ms. Frost was gone.

"What happened?"

"The CIA offered her better money."

Charles fought against a heavy scowl as Erik's stray emotions of anger and self-righteousness floated between them.

"If you don't want me reading your mind, stop broadcasting."

Erik sighed.

"Charles…"

The telepath didn't want to hear it.

"Why are you here, Erik? I think we've both made it pretty clear that we don't share each other's ideas anymore. If we ever did."

"I'm willing to change."

"You've tried that. It didn't work."

"Please, Charles."

"Why now?"

Flashes of an angry Raven, a smirking Emma, and the feeling that all was wrong with the world passed through Charles' mind so quickly that he barely had time to figure out what they all meant.

"You were the one who decided to leave."

"You were the one who told me don't come back."

"I never said that."

"Maybe not those exact words, but your intent was clear."

"I am sorry if you felt that way."

"How else was I supposed to feel, Charles?"

Charles was silent for a moment.

"Why did you leave?"

He was proud by how little his voice broke.

"I had just put a bullet in your back. You told me that I was becoming Shaw. I put two and two together and didn't think I was welcome."

"Out of all the ways I have thought to describe you, coward was never one of them. Nor was stupid."

"You are the one with the ability to see the good in others, Charles. Not me."

"It is nothing special. I just believe in them. Like you believed in Raven."

"She is angry with me."

"I would assume so."

Erik glared at Charles, annoyed.

"She is your sister. I am not surprised."

"She's not angry with you on account of me. She's angry with you because you are so utterly dense at times, Erik."

Erik raised an eyebrow.

"And you would know this, how?"

"Your telepath has her tricks, I have mine."

_You __have __your __tricks, __I __have __mine. __You__'__re __not __alone. __Erik, __you __are __not __alone_.

Charles bit his lip and looked away, not wanting to remember that night they had first met. If he did, then he would lose his forced air of nonchalance. Though he highly doubted he was fooling Erik.

"You've been spying on us."

"You were my friend and Raven is my sister. Forgive me for wanting to make sure you two were all right."

"You could have just called."

"Because the last time you tried that, it went so beautifully."

"That was Hank's doing."

"Your timing was horrible. Both times."

"I didn't know about Alex."

"You were the one who left."

"The government sent Alex away, not me."

"I don't blame you for Alex."

"Then what do you blame me for?"

"I blame you for giving into your dark side. For allowing Shaw to win."

"I killed him."

"That's your definition of winning. Not mine."

_Erik. Please. Don't do this. Please, Erik!_

The memory of Charles beating up the inside of the plane, trying to get Erik to stop, and then the _agonyohgodjustkillmenow_ as the coin was sent through his—_Shaw__'__s_—brain.

Erik let out a gasp of shock. Charles looked away, not wanting the other man to see the tears that stung his eyes.

"That day, on the beach, when I killed Shaw. You felt all of that?"

"Yes."

Erik's face went bone white. Charles was surprised that he hadn't thought of that.

"You never told me."

"I thought you had figured it out for yourself."

"Em—Ms. Frost's powers don't work that way."

"She isn't as powerful as I am."

There was nothing arrogant about the way Charles had said that—it was the cold, hard truth.

Erik was silent for a moment, before another thought hit him.

"So when you told me that you had felt my agony—."

"I felt it like you did."

Charles hated himself for sounding so coldhearted when his fri—when _Erik_ was so obviously suffering from this information.

"I'm sorry, my friend. I never—I—_god_, Charles, how could you have not told me?"

It was the first time Erik had called him a friend since the Cuban Missile Crisis.

Charles didn't want to hear it.

"Would it have stopped you from killing Shaw?"

The answer was plain in Erik's face—nothing would have.

"I would have found another way."

"I still would have felt it."

A lone tear slipped down Erik's face.

"I'm sorry."

"Of all the things to be sorry for."

"What do you want me to _do_, Charles?"

Charles almost had to swallow his tongue to keep from saying _come __back_. Because that was not the solution. Erik couldn't come back, not until he had proven that he had changed.

_A __scotch __glass __shattered __against __the __wall. __The __chessboard __was __flung __to __the __floor. __Angry __tears __streamed __down __Charles__' __face __as __he __sat __in __the __middle __of __the __library. __Hank __stood __in __the __doorway__, __with __Alex __and __Sean __behind __him, __unable __to __find __the __words __that __Charles __so __obviously __needed_.

Charles closed his mind against the memory, but not before it crossed their mental link. Erik's face was twisted with sadness.

"Charles…"

"I don't want you to do anything."

"What?"

"If I asked you to do something, then you would do it because you would feel guilty if you did not. So I don't want you to do anything. It wouldn't solve anything."

"I want to fix this, Charles."

"Some things cannot be fixed."

"Some things _can_."

"I'm not sure if I want this to be fixed, Erik."

* * *

><p>Footsteps could be heard coming down the hallway. Erik looked at Charles, who nodded grimly.<p>

The cell door creaked open. The guard barely had time to step inside before Charles infiltrated his mind and Erik took him out. They then proceeded to drag the guard into the cell, strip him, and hide him under one of the cots.

"You should put the clothes on. They'll look ridiculously big on me."

Erik sighed.

"Are you ever concerned about something other than your looks?"

"I am rather fond of this orange jumpsuit, actually."

"You're much more recognizable than I am."

"Exactly, which is why you should pose as the guard and I should pose as the helpless mutant being dragged away for questioning."

"I don't quite get how you'd be posing."

"Shut up."

Erik rolled his eyes.

"I take it you won't turn around."

"I have seen you in many more compromising positions, I assure you."

"That's really not reassuring, Charles."

"Erik, you're wasting time. Take your damn jumpsuit off."

"Are you sure this isn't some ploy just to get me naked?"

Had Charles not had a splitting headache, he might have rolled his eyes in response. Instead, he focused on locating the other guards in the cell block.

"No one has expected anything yet."

"Remind me why this is a good idea again?"

_Because __if __we__'__re __caught, __you __still __go __free_.

Charles managed to successfully clamp down on that thought before he accidentally shared it with Erik. Nothing would piss off the metal wielder quite like that.

"Because it was mine. And it's the only one we have. So pip, pip. There's no time like the present to break out of a heavily guarded CIA base and make our escape."

"Your sarcasm is endearing, Charles."

"Pity. Endearing is so much less than inspiring."

_That __was __inspired, __Charles_.

He blinked away the memory, not wanting to go down that particular road until Erik was safely away from here.

"Until _we_ are safely away from here, Charles."

Erik had _finally_ finished changing, but he had a look on his face that clearly said they weren't going anywhere any time soon.

"We have to leave _now_, Erik. I can only hold these men for so long."

It wasn't exactly the truth—since Charles had become the picture of cooperation the past few days, he hadn't been given the telepathic inhibitors, thus allowing him more control over his abilities.

"I am not leaving until we get one thing straight."

"I know, you're not going to leave me behind. I understand. Now can we move this along?"

"_Charles_."

Charles sighed.

"What?"

"If you aren't going to get yourself out of here, then there's no point in our trying."

"I know."

"Do you?"

"_Yes_."

Erik still looked unconvinced.

"If anything happens to you-."

"Then you can kill me later. Now, come _on_. We only have one chance at this before Stryker wakes up and we have to get as many mutants out as we can."

* * *

><p>TRANSLATION: Scheiße-shit in German, according to Google Translate.<p> 


	7. Incredulity

_This chapter is marginally happier than the past three have been, but it does have a depressing and very intense ending. _

_This is chapter is probably my favorite one because of the first half of this. I hope you enjoy it half as much as I enjoyed writing it. _

**The Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 7: Incredulity **

The third time Erik saw Charles after the Cuban Missile Crisis was in a bar three months after their last meeting. The most shocking sight of all was the fact that Charles was _walking_.

It was close to midnight and it was raining once more. Why it always seemed to be raining whenever he was around Charles was beyond Erik.

He had just left another CIA base and had once more been thwarted. They had lost Riptide—he had been shot and killed before the mission even truly began. Mystique had been hurt, too, trying to protect Erik.

Why did everyone he care about always get hurt trying to save him? First it had been his mother, then it had been his wife and daughter, then Charles, and now Mystique.

Was the world purposely trying to make sure he lost everyone he cared about?

It was with that miserable thought that Erik had left an injured Mystique, a shell-shocked Angel, and Azazel to go in search of alcohol and a way to forget the fact that they depended on him for survival and he had let them down.

Well, he was actually in search of Charles, but his conscious refused to admit to that. Especially after their last two meetings where Charles had practically kicked him out of his life.

The bar's name was forgotten amongst Erik's dark, spiraling thoughts. He was vaguely aware of the fact that he was still dressed in his cape and helmet—which had appeared sometime between his last meeting with Charles and the CIA mission gone wrong—if only because it served to earn him strange looks as he entered the bar.

Fortunately for him—not that he knew it—it was Halloween and he was merely written off as a strange adult male with an obsession for dressing up.

The bartender didn't say anything as he handed over Erik's beer, nor did he say anything when the bottle cap unscrewed itself on its own accord. Bartenders were trained not to notice things like that.

A loud, obnoxious, _British_ voice filled the bar—though the words were completely lost to Erik, it seemed to be some sort of joke, for a lot of the occupants laughed.

He turned, wondering who the hell would be this boisterous on such a night—Erik ignored the fact that it was possible no one else knew _or__cared_ about his failed mission—and almost dropped his beer in surprise.

Standing on top of a table, with a large glass tube full of beer in one hand, was none other than Charles Xavier.

Erik could do nothing except stare.

Charles seemed oblivious to the fact that Erik was there as he once more addressed the crowd with a grin. Erik could feel the waves of giddiness and excitement pouring off them—no doubt exacerbated by a drunk telepath.

Charles asked something that Erik couldn't make out over the screaming crowd and the pounding rock music, but the crowd's noise grew in intensity in response.

Erik watched with guarded amusement as Charles put the large glass tube—_yard__of__ale_, Erik's mind supplied—to his lips and began to chug.

It was so far removed from the mental image of Charles that Erik had been clinging to that it was almost as if it were another person. In fact, had Erik not known that Raven—_Mystique_—was at home with a broken leg, he would have sworn it was her impersonating Charles.

Charles, much to Erik's growing astonishment and to the crowd's growing excitement, finished off the beer with a yell of triumph. He hopped off the table, grinning widely, and accepted the admirations from his crowd.

He was still grinning as he _walked_to the bar, having not yet noticed Erik.

"Barkeep, I'll take another one, please!"

His British accent was more pronounced than Erik ever remembered hearing it and he seemed to be swaying slightly on the spot.

"I think you've had enough, son."

Charles sighed dramatically and the crowd behind him shouted their disapproval. Erik was hardly surprised—Charles always did know how to get people to follow him.

Placing a hand on his temple, Charles adapted a look of concentration. Erik was almost tempted to laugh.

"Here you are. And it's on the house, too."

The bartender had a glazed look in his eye as he handed over the next round of beer. The crowd's excitement grew.

"Don't you think that's cheating?"

Charles froze halfway between grabbing the yard from the bartender and turned to Erik. His eyes were comically wide as he took in the sight of Erik sitting at the bar next to him.

"Erik!"

Of all the greetings he had been expecting, Erik definitely hadn't been prepared for a bear hug and a huge, _drunken_ grin.

"Charles, what are you doing?"

"Drinking, Erik. Duh. I thought that was obvious."

Erik turned to the bartender, who obviously came back to his senses long enough to take the yard of beer away from Charles once more and dump it down the drain with a shake of his head.

"How many has he had?"

"Two like this one since I've been here. I don't know how many he had before I arrived."

Charles was grinning and swaying as he looked at Erik with unfocused eyes.

"You look funny in that hat."

Erik sighed. Where the hell was Hank or Sean or someone _capable_ of dealing with Charles when he was drunk?

"You are more than capable of handling me, Erik, and that is an i-i-invitation."

Charles hiccupped, not noticing Erik's stunned look. Not at the gay innuendo—Charles flirted with everything that moved (or, at least, he had)—but at the fact that he had so obviously read Erik's mind.

"I am _hic_a telepath, stupid. And I resent your implication_hic_. I _hic_ do have standards."

Erik raised an eyebrow, deciding to hide his growing surprise behind cynicism.

"Really, Charles? You have standards?"

"Yes _hic_ I do. And it would behoove you to know that your sarcasm is highly unappreciated."

Indignant, drunk and so very, very _Charles_. There was no other man on the planet who could be completely wasted and be ever so proper about insults.

"You _hic_ say that like it's a bad thing."

"Don't you think it's past your bed time, _Professor_?"

"No. I'm a grown man who has a PhD in genetics. I think I can decide when it is my bedtime or not. And whether or not I need another drink."

He said this pointedly to the bartender, who merely ignored him. Erik figured that was probably a good thing.

"You are being singularly unhelpful, my friend."

It was the first time Charles had called him a friend since the Cuban Missile Crisis. Erik pretended like it wasn't that big of a deal.

"I'm doing it for your own good, Charles. I highly doubt Hank and Sean will want to deal with your hangover in the morning."

"They won't be witness to it, for I have no plans of returning there."

This surprised Erik, perhaps more than Charles' newfound ability to walk or to read his mind through the helmet.

"What?"

"Don't pretend you didn't hear me when I know you understood me perfectly. Daftness doesn't suit you, Erik."

"Why aren't you planning on returning?"

"It's full of nightmares and darkness and shadows."

Erik's eyebrow inched higher at Charles' profound, if slightly childish admission.

"You have never mentioned that before."

"You never asked. Of all the time we spent together, you _never_ asked. You were obsessed with becoming more powerful, with killing Shaw, with starting a war with the humans… You never did ask about anything that didn't give you more information about your enemies."

"It's been keeping me alive."

_It's been almost getting you killed._

Erik wasn't sure if that was his memory, Charles' memory, or Charles' thought—or all three—that floated through his head.

"I may be drunk, Erik, but that doesn't mean I have forgotten what's happened between us."

Charles suddenly sounded the very opposite of drunk as he sat down on a barstool next to Erik. Up until that point, he had been leaning casually against the bar, as though it had been the only thing keeping him from face planting.

Which, it probably had.

Erik sighed.

"I wasn't expecting you to be here."

"Nor I you. Yet here we are."

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Erik took another sip of his beer, while Charles played with the bottle cap on the counter. The metal bender was the first to break the silence.

"What—what did you mean, the mansion is full of nightmares?"

_I __thought __that __was __only __my __life_.

Charles closed his eyes, clenching his hand around the bottle cap until his knuckles turned white.

"You are not the only one with a dark past, Erik."

Erik studied Charles' face—really studied it, for what felt like the first time—and noted that despite outward appearances of youthfulness and buoyancy, Charles looked no better than he had their first meeting after the Cuban Missile Crisis. The dark circles underneath his eyes were darker, his face was gaunt, and his hair—his ridiculously long, usually well kept hair—was shorter now, and not as neat as it once had been. His clothes were different, too. He had foregone his black slacks, long sleeved shirts, and cardigans in favor of a pair of jeans, a short sleeve v-neck shirt, and a black button up jacket. He wore boots instead of his usual loafers.

The change was frightening. It was as though the sky had suddenly been changed to red or the sun had disappeared or something else completely drastic.

"Don't be ludicrous, Erik. Changing my clothes isn't going to cause the sun to burn out."

"You cut your hair."

Charles almost smiled.

"Why are you here, Erik?"

_Diversion_. It was an art form Erik had perfected.

"You didn't answer the question."

"Nor did you."

"I asked first."

"And you think I'm childish?"

They glared at each other in a battle of wills only one could win. Finally, Charles sighed and looked away.

"Hank has been experimenting with Cerebro again."

It was surprising information that had nothing to do with anything Erik had wanted to know.

"It does."

"Stay out of my head."

The words were flat, but without any real heat behind them.

"My telepathy is a little out of control at the moment. I apologize in advance if I unduly read your mind. Alcohol and Cerebro have adverse effects on my control."

"I thought you couldn't read my mind with the helmet."

Charles ignored him. Erik took the helmet off.

"Opening myself up to that many minds at one time… it's _invigorating_, to say the least. And wonderful. I imagine the only think like it would be lifting a submarine with nothing but your mind."

Erik heard the pride behind Charles' tone—which was surprising to say the least.

"I do not hate you, Erik. Nor am I angry at you. Not anymore."

Erik couldn't doubt the truthfulness in Charles' voice, which surprised him almost as much as the other things about Charles.

"You were talking about Cerebro."

He hadn't meant to sound harsh, but Charles' words had brought up so many emotions that Erik didn't want to deal with at the moment that he decided a change in subject would be the best.

"Now who is dodging the question?"

Charles had the beginnings of a smirk on his face, though the expression didn't reach his eyes. He sobered again.

"It's also like a drug—I will admit to getting high off the power it has."

Erik tried and failed to imagine a high Charles.

"Sean claims it's quite scary."

"Sean is scared of everything."

"Yet he still managed to jump out an airplane and into hostile waters."

Erik took a huge swig of beer and waited for Charles to continue with the story.

"Drugs, like alcohol, serve to strip away at anyone's control. It's why you shouldn't drive or try to rob the CIA when under the influence."

Erik rolled his eyes at the irony.

"Are you trying to lecture me, _Professor_?"

Charles let out a chuckle.

"No. God knows that you wouldn't listen to me anyway."

Behind his humor was a stark depression that made Erik wince with the strength of it.

"Charles-."

"What's done is done, Erik. It is time for you to move on. Like I have. Forgive and forget, as Sean's mother likes to say."

"You've met Sean's mother?"

"She's a truly delightful woman, if not a little high most of the time."

Erik smiled slightly.

"Anyway. Whenever I use Cerebro, I wind up having nightmares. They're not always mine, but they're never pleasant. And my control is always shot, so I always wind up projecting, if you'll remember."

Erik did, quite vividly, actually, the nights at the CIA base and at random hotels before the Cuban Missile Crisis where Charles had overdone it with the telepathic-run machine. It had never been very pleasant, to be having a good dream of his own only to have Charles' own warped conscious get involved. Erik remembered one time where he had been dreaming about finally lifting that damned submarine when suddenly, it had changed to a bar, not unlike this one, where Charles was surrounded by a bunch of mannequins.

"Of course you would remember that one."

Charles, alcohol, and sarcasm were rarely a good mix.

"Your fear of mannequins is your own fault. You are the one with that blasted room full of them."

"And I did my best to get rid of them, though, I guess I'll have to find alternative uses for them now."

Erik wasn't sure if it was his own sorrow or Charles' projected that caused the tears to prick his eyes. He looked away.

"I'm sorry, my friend. It's still a raw memory for me."

"I understand."

They were silent for a few more minutes, while the crowd behind them came to the realization their main source of entertainment wasn't coming back. There was a sudden decrease in sound as the mood of the bar became sober and quiet once more.

"You know, manipulating moods isn't part of a normal telepath's ability."

"And what exactly is the definition of a normal telepath, Charles?"

"I'm still working on that definition. It's for my research paper."

"You're working on a research paper when the mutants and the humans are on the brink of war?"

"Both the humans and the mutants are going to start searching for experts on the matter sooner or later. I might as well be one of them."

"So why do you have the ability to manipulate moods, if it's not part of a normal telepath's ability? And how many telepaths have you studied?"

"Me. And Emma Frost, before she went and sold herself and you to the CIA to the highest bidder. You do realize that's why your plans are constantly being thwarted, right? Because of that diamond bitch?"

Erik really had to remember that Charles was drunk and not purposely looking to give Erik the incentive to hit him.

"And as I mentioned a few months ago, I can feel all of the emotions behind your thoughts. Emma was never able to do that."

"You were always more _human_ then she was."

"I will pretend that wasn't an insult."

"Good. It honestly wasn't meant to be. Now what does all of that mean?"

"I have no idea."

"Wow. This research paper of yours—it's absolutely stellar."

"Your rudeness is not helping anything."

"It's helping me."

"There is that."

They were silent for again. Charles spoke first.

"Could I possibly have some of your beer? As you've seen, I'm not going to get anymore from the bartender tonight."

"I think you've had quite enough."

"Who are you, my mother?"

"Thank God I'm not. I don't want to imagine you as a child."

"I assure you, I honestly was quite delightful."

Erik snorted. Charles smiled and this time, it did reach his eyes.

"Erik?"

"What, Charles?"

"I've missed you."

"I've missed you too, Charles."

* * *

><p>Charles collapsed against the closest cinderblock wall, his legs finally giving out. He closed his eyes, shuddering with both cold and pain as his amassed injuries over the past two months finally caught up with him.<p>

_You __promised __me, __Charles. __You __promised __me __you __would __get _out.

_I __promised __you __a __great __deal __of __things, __I__'__m __afraid_.

He tried not to let the memory of the last time he had told someone that take control of him. It had been three years, damn it, and he needed to move on.

_Don't do this. Don't you dare give up on me now._

_I'm sorry, my friend._

They had almost been caught. It had taken everything Charles had left in him to erase the memories of the guards of ever seeing the twenty-seven fleeing mutants as well as force said twenty-six other fleeing mutants to go on without him.

It had almost killed him to make Erik leave him behind.

But he had to.

_No, you didn't, you bastard, and you know it._

_My parents were married when I was born._

_Charles…_

The warning in Erik's mind was clear.

_I can't move, Erik. Hank's serum… it finally wore off. For good this time._

_I'm coming back to get you._

_No. You're free now. They'll catch you if you come back._

_I__don__'__t_care_,__Charles.__I__'__m__coming__back__for__you__and__you__'__re__just__going__to__have__to__deal__with__it._

_Don't make me force you._

_God__damn__it, __I__'__m __not __leaving __you __behind! __They__'__ll _kill _you!_

_No, they won't. Not for a while, at least._

Erik growled. Charles huffed a sigh.

_Raven, Sean, and the others are going to need you, Erik._

_They __need _you _more._

High heels clacked on the laminated floor, drawing ever closer to Charles' hiding spot.

_I__'__m __afraid __that__'__s __not __going __to __happen, __my __friend. __But __listen __to __me. __You _can _lead __them. __They __look __up __to __you, __Erik. __They __respect __you. __Raven __and __Sean __especially. __Keep __them __safe. __You__'__re __the __only __one __who __can._

_You__'__re __not __going __to_ die_, __Charles._

The footsteps paused on the other side of the corner. Charles opened his eyes.

Hauntingly familiar brown eyes stared back into his own, absent of all recognition.

"Hello, Moira."

A gun's safety clicked off.

Charles was distinctly aware of Erik shouting in the back of his mind as the gun was fired.

His last thought before he sank in to a world of blackness was that he had done too good of a job on Moira.

She had forgotten him completely.


	8. Explaining

_Don't hate me for this chapter. I know you're all desperate to know what happened to Charles in the present time… but my muse had a little too much fun with drunk Charles and snarky Erik in the past to get back to writing what was happening in the present. Though, it was kind enough to offer some explanation as to why Charles got shot…_

_More will be revealed about Charles' predicament in the present in the next chapter. I promise!_

**The Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 8: Explaining **

Erik wasn't quite sure how it happened—probably through some strange trick of Charles' increasing telepathic powers—but he had wound up driving Charles back to the mansion at around three thirty that morning. Erik had given Charles the rest of his beer, which had given way to six more and a three and a half hour long conversation about the world, life, and mutants before Charles had passed out on the bar top.

Hank and Sean were waiting anxiously at the door. They obviously hadn't been expecting their professor to spend the entire night away from home.

They were more than a little upset when they found Erik was the one towing a mostly unconscious Charles home.

"What did you do to him?"

Sean's shout was almost powerful enough to break Erik's eardrum. Hank had a look on his blue face that promised imminent death should Erik not start explaining himself immediately.

"We wound up at the same bar—he got drunk. I didn't do anything to him."

"I don't believe you."

"Of course you don't. It's true, though."

Charles muttered something incoherent that could have been anything from _believe__Erik_ to _I__want__hot__chocolate_.

A muddled memory of a badly lit bar and Erik handing him a beer drifted through Erik's mind and he didn't have to be a telepath to know that it was playing in Hank and Sean's too.

"All right. Get him inside."

Hank had always been one of the more reasonable mutants Erik had encountered, a fact he was most grateful for at that moment. Charles might look like a gust of wind could knock him over, but the bloody idiot weighed a _ton_.

"There's no need to be insulting."

Charles' words were slurred together, but with a little mental help, Erik figured out what he meant.

"I'm just pointing out simple facts, dear."

"Shuddup."

Erik chuckled as he began dragging Charles to the mansion. He didn't announce it, but he was a little annoyed that Hank and Sean weren't helping him.

"Scared of you."

"Come again?"

"Beast n' Banshee—they're scared of you. Think you're going to eat them or something."

"Don't be absurd. I'm not a cannibal."

"Not sure if eating Hank would count as being a cannibal."

"And why would I want to eat him? He's _furry_."

Charles huffed an indignant sigh.

"I dunno. They're the ones that think it. Not me."

"I'm sorry if I offended you, Charles."

By then, they had reached the front steps of the mansion. Charles stopped, forcing Erik to stop as well.

The metal wielder looked at his friend, raising an eyebrow. He bit back a laugh at Charles' confused look.

"They're called steps, Charles. You walk up them."

Charles threw Erik a glare that managed to convey annoyance, exhaustion, and friendship all at the same time.

Erik wondered how he had managed to earn that look again.

"We'll take it from here, Magneto."

Erik look up to find Sean and Hank glaring down at him.

"Boys."

Charles' slurred reprimand had no bearing on the three-way glaring contest.

"I wanted to make sure he would be all right."

"Why?"

Sean's hostile attitude caught Erik by surprise. He had never expected the kid—who was more often on drugs than he was anything else—to be capable of such _anger_.

"You changed them, Erik."

Charles' voice was sad, but forgiving.

"You haven't cared for the past year, why should you start now?"

It was Hank's turn to surprise Erik, though he understood why they were upset now.

"We can talk once we get him inside."

"We don't have to listen to you."

"_Boys_."

Charles' voice was more forceful now, sounding more like the schoolteacher he was and less like a petulant school boy he had been acting like.

Hank and Sean had twin sighs of reluctance. Both of them gave them Erik glares that clearly stated the only reason why they _weren__'__t_ tearing his head off was because they didn't want to upset Charles.

Erik understood the sentiment.

"Your room is in the same spot. Hasn't been touched."

Erik had been planning on returning to his group of mutants—even if it was another hour outside of his way—but the offer to stay a night at the mansion—_the __only __place __he __had __felt __at __home_—was too great to ignore.

"This doesn't change anything."

Hank's low growl reached Erik's ears as he tugged Charles up the steps.

"I know."

* * *

><p>It had been six months since Charles last saw Moira. He had been following one of the countless of nameless CIA agents that just so happened to work in the same sector as Moira.<p>

She had recognized him the moment he had lost hold of his illusion.

Instead of calling him out and getting him arrested like she should have done, Moira had risked _everything_ to get him out of there, past the battalion of armed guards and even _Stryker_ without so much as a question as to why he was there.

She had been threatened with arrest for treason the second she returned. The CIA had sentenced her to death if she didn't speak.

Charles did the only thing he could—he erased her memory and those around her of that day. With Moira, Charles went back further and erased the memory of him completely so that this would never happen again.

It saved her life. It saved the lives of countless of mutants that would have been rounded up and killed had she cracked.

Now, the decision was what almost killed Charles.

Three weeks after Moira's memory had been wiped, she was promoted to Stryker's assistant.

Two months after that, She had been transferred to the very facility Charles had been held captive in.

She was called the Ice Queen now, known for her hatred of mutants.

Charles really had done a good job on her.

* * *

><p>Charles felt as though something had crawled inside his mouth and died when he woke up the next morning. His head pounded angrily and the faint stream of light coming from underneath the curtains made him want to claw his eyes out.<p>

"Maybe next time you'll think twice before downing three yards of ale and six shots of scotch after a two hour session in Cerebro."

Charles groaned—he must have really overdone it last night if he was having hallucinations this early in the morning.

"You've had hallucinations?"

Damn pushy metal wielding hallucinations.

"I assure you, Charles, I am very, very real."

"That's what they all say."

Or that is what was meant to come out of his mouth. He wasn't sure what actually did, but it sounded more like some strange cross between a donkey's bray and a cat's meow than English.

"That sounded beautiful, Charles. Were you trying to sing?"

"Bite me."

"That was the most profound statement I think I've ever heard coming from you."

Charles managed to force his eyes open once more, shocked to find _Erik_ sprawled in the recliner chair beside his bed. He was dressed in a pair of loose fitting sweatpants and a t-shirt. His hair looked wet, as though he had just stepped out of a shower.

This definitely was not a hallucination.

"You're really here."

"You were the one who invited me to stay last night. Or should I say, this morning?"

Charles racked his brain, trying to remember meeting Erik last night. He vaguely remembered going to a bar to get away from the constant stress and tension that was constantly radiating off Sean and Hank, but he didn't remember much after that.

Though, if Erik's recollections were to be believed, he had consumed an enormous amount of alcohol, which would account for his memory loss.

"I can honestly say I don't remember that."

"I'm not surprised. Tell me, is this habit of drinking insane amounts of alcohol something you've always done, or have you taken it up instead of teaching?"

Charles sighed and blinked blearily.

"Do you mind if we continue our rousing conversation after I've taken a shower and inhaled massive amounts of tea?"

"Please. You reek, my friend."

Charles raised an eyebrow.


	9. Run

_Yeah, I lied. You don't really find out too much more about Charles in the present in this chapter… but it is coming! I swear! _

_Thanks to those of you who have constantly read and reviewed! You are the reason why I'm still posting the story! :) As to all of those who have alerted this story or put it on your favorites, feel free to review as well! I won't bite... hard. :)_

**The Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 9: Run**

Erik felt stone cold horror seep over him in waves as he felt something in his mind vanish. It was Charles' telepathic connection. It had been severed in a shock of guilt, anguish and _pain_.

Charles was _gone_.

"CHARLES!"

There was no reply outside of twenty-five terrified pairs of eyes staring up at him. Erik realized the he must look like the bad guy, dressed in a guard's uniform and with no obvious powers.

"It's all right."

His voice was harsh with shock and horror, doing absolutely nothing to reassure them. The youngest—a girl, no older then ten with stark white hair and beautiful black eyes—shrank away from him.

Erik inwardly flinched, trying to remember what Charles would do in this situation.

He took a deep breath.

"You're going to be all right. I'm going to get you all out of here and someplace safe."

Though where, he didn't know. The mutants were rapidly running out of safe places to hide. Their most recent hiding place had been raided and Hank had been captured. The mansion was out—it was still under renovations after having caught on fire during a CIA attack.

There was an ominous sound of booted footsteps and the clicking of gun safeties being turned off, followed by yelling and harsh voices.

_Shit_.

The government wasn't going to let them go without a fight.

There was a terrified whimper coming from one of the mutants as shadows fell around the corner of the building.

They needed to move.

Sparing one last, useless glance toward the compound in a vain hope that Charles would magically appear, Erik steeled himself for what he was about to do next.

He was going to leave Charles behind.

"When I say run, head to the trees as fast as you can. Don't look back, but don't lose each other either. We are all getting out of here."

Twenty-five heads nodded mutely with shock.

The shadows grew closer.

Erik took a deep breath.

"Run!"

* * *

><p>When Charles pulled himself out of the shower an hour and a half later, he was stunned, to say the least, to find a steaming mug of tea and a chessboard waiting for him in the kitchen.<p>

Erik was standing at the stove, nursing what looked like a cup of coffee. Charles wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"How can you stand to drink that vile liquid?"

"It's better than brown water."

"At least I won't clog my insides drinking that _tar_."

"Always so proper, Charles."

"And you are always so rude. Would it kill you to sit down?"

"Yes. It would cause me physical pain to the point of death."

"It is way too early in the morning for sarcasm."

"It's almost three o'clock in the afternoon, Charles."

Charles slumped into a chair with a sigh. He ran a hand through his hair and glanced at the tea.

"You didn't make this, did you?"

Erik rolled his eyes and sat down across from Charles.

"Of course not. I had Hank make it."

"Er, good. I guess that makes it marginally safe. I won't have to worry about you poisoning me or anything."

"I am not here because I want to kill you, Charles. I could have easily done that last night when you could hardly see straight. It would have been absurdly easy."

"Thanks for that."

"I'm merely pointing out the fact you were inebriated last night."

Charles glanced at Erik over the top of his cup.

"If you don't mind my saying so, but you look bloody awful."

"Pot calling the kettle black."

"I know, Erik. But what happened to you, my friend?"

"We tried to infiltrate the CIA yesterday."

"I heard."

Erik looked shocked, which amused Charles to no end.

"What? Did you honestly believe I haven't been keeping tabs on you?"

"I didn't think you cared."

"Don't be ridiculous, Erik, of course I care."

"You've changed since the last time I saw you."

"So have you."

"No, you've become more like yourself. And I'm not going to even ask how you're walking again."

"Hank found a mutant with regenerative powers. He mutated it to help only the spinal cells."

"I didn't realize—I didn't know that sort of thing was possible."

"Neither did I. And I don't think Hank really did either."

"That's amazing."

Charles smiled.

"You see, my friend, no matter how great the wrong, it can always be made right."

"I thought you didn't want that."

"Like you said—I've changed."

They sat in a companionable silence, before another thought struck Erik. Charles heard it long before Erik could figure out how to put it, but he decided to wait and let his friend ask him before he answered.

"Does—is the—is this permanent?"

Charles took a sip of his tea and closed his eyes.

"I don't know. Hank thinks it might be, but I'm less optimistic."

"Why?"

Charles took another sip of tea to give himself time to gather his thoughts. Truth was, it was the incident on the beach that had caused him to be less optimistic of life in general, but he couldn't tell Erik that without it making it sound like he was to blame. And no matter how angry Charles had been with Erik, he wasn't anymore. And he certainly didn't blame Erik for what had happened.

"I have learned that it's better to air on the side of caution. You taught me that."

It was the politest, most blunt way to put his thoughts into words, but it obviously still struck a chord with Erik.

The taller man stood and set his coffee cup down, making a visible effort not to slam it into the table top. While Charles appreciated the sentiment, he did _not_ appreciate the anger behind it.

"I am _not_ mad at you, Erik. Please, sit down."

Erik folded his arms against his chest.

"If you are not angry with me-."

He trailed off, though Charles didn't need to be a telepath to figure out what he was going to say next.

"It's almost impossible to get in touch with someone who insists on operating in secrecy. I can get inside your head long enough to know what you're doing, but it's like a one-way radio. I can hear what you're doing, saying, and thinking, but you can't hear me."

"You located and talked to Alex easily enough—he was hundreds of thousands of miles away."

"I had something of his. And it took me hours to be able to do it—and look how well _that_ turned out."

_Screaming, pain, ohgodthatfuckinghurts, someone please help me!_

Erik flinched.

"I'm sorry, Charles."

The apology wasn't just for losing Alex.

"I know. And I am too."

His apology wasn't just for ignoring Erik for so long.

* * *

><p>Charles could only remember one time in his life that he had been in this much pain upon awakening, and that was after the Cuban Missile Crisis.<p>

"He's waking up!"

"Get everyone who doesn't need to be in here out, _now_. I don't want to give him the chance to control anyone."

Charles almost laughed, but seeing as _breathing_ hurt, he figured anything else was entirely out of the question.

Hadn't the government figured out by now that shooting him caused a momentary short in his abilities?

Of course not, or otherwise he would have been shot on a regular basis instead of given those stupid telepathic inhibitors that made him sick.

"Prisoner X-."

"M'n'me's Charles."

"What did he say?"

Charles wished he could get his eyes open to see the look of shock on everyone's faces, but he couldn't seem to get his eyes to cooperate.

"My. Name. Is. _Charles_."


	10. Guilt

_This one is really sad. You are hereby warned. And I apologize in advance for how short this chapter is. There really wasn't a better way to chop it down. _

_Thanks to all of those who have read and reviewed! Your words are what keep me posting! :)_

**The Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 10: Guilt**

Smoke. Pain. Fear. The smell of burning wood and the sharp scent of crushed greenery. The feeling of nothingness below his left kneecap.

Erik knew this wasn't his dream, but that didn't make it any less real or any less frightening. What made it worse was the he knew who's dream this was.

_You're going to be okay. Alex, listen to me, you're going to be just fine. Just hold on. Help is coming. _

_It hurts, Professor._

Soft spoken, almost a whimper.

_I know. But you're going to be okay. I promise._

Erik longed to wake up so he wouldn't have to bear witness to Alex's death, but he doubted he would be that fortunate.

_Professor, c-could you tell my brother—_

_Hush, Alex. You're going to be just fine._

Erik heard the panic in Charles' voice, despite how hard the telepath tried to hide it.

_Thank you, Professor._

_For what?_

_For giving me the home I never had._

Everything went black.

Erik opened his eyes, unable to stop the lone tear that slid down his face.

He heard movement coming from next door—_Charles__' __room_—and knew that he wasn't the only one awake.

Footsteps crept down the hall, heading toward the side door that was a few feet away from Erik's room.

Without pausing to think about the fact that Charles might not want company, Erik threw his blankets off and followed Charles out the door.

The door creaked open as Erik pushed through it moments after Charles. The telepath didn't seem to be aware of someone following him as he made his way across the large, sloping lawn.

The lawn gave way to a copse of trees, where Erik almost lost Charles. He waited for a few moments, letting his ears adjust to the sounds of croaking frogs and chirping crickets. He caught Charles' footsteps cracking on a stick and immediately headed toward the sound.

Erik found Charles again in a small clearing. There was a long stretch of dirt, breaking the otherwise even grass.

Erik knew without reading the simple headstone that this was Alex's grave.

"Today was his birthday. He would have been twenty."

Charles' voice was hoarse and quiet. Erik barely heard him.

"Charles…"

He trailed off, realizing he had absolutely nothing to say.

"He stepped on a landmine."

"I know."

"I… I was practicing reaching people over a great distance. I felt every moment of it."

"I know."

Charles looked apologetic, but didn't say anything. Instead, he sat down in the grass, looking extremely young in his striped pajamas and lost expression.

Erik sat down next to him, ignoring the dampness of the grass and the fact that it was really, really cold outside.

"Alex—I—he was right."

Charles glanced at Erik and raised an eyebrow.

"About what?"

"It—he—could you read my mind?"

He couldn't put his thoughts into words.

Charles looked surprised by the request. Erik realized that outside of when he was heavily intoxicated and a few instances of accidental projection, Charles hadn't been in his mind once the entire time they had been together.

The thought made him sad and he wasn't quite sure why.

"If that's what you want."

Charles lifted his hand against his temple and closed his eyes.

_Strong arms wrapping around his waist and yanking him backward, catching him by surprise. Anger at whoever the hell it was that let Shaw get away. Surprise and an overwhelming sensation of no longer being alone. _

_Sadness at the thought that this wouldn't last, that it was just too good to be true. _

_He was leaving, but then all of a sudden he wasn't, because of some ridiculous man in a black jacket and a pair of black pants and fingerless gloves who told him that he belonged there._

_The __bonds __of __friendship __were __being __made __as __that __same __ridiculous __man __took __him __on __a __merry __jaunt __around __America __recruiting __other __mut ants __and __bringing __the __same _surprisejoyhappinessnotalone _feeling __that __Charles __had __brought __to __him._

_Then there was the sharp pain of having it all taken away when Shaw attacked the CIA base while they were in Russia. Relief that the kids—save for Darwin and Angel—were all right. _

_Surprise at the sheer size of the mansion, and then even more surprise as, after a while, everything seemed to feel like home. _

_Then training, where he worked on increasing his power._

_Then Charles, helping him more than he could put into words._

"_There __is __more __to __you __than __you __know._"

Charles opened his eyes and stared at Erik in surprise. Erik met his gaze evenly, though he doubted his emotions were any more hidden than Charles'.

"Thank you, Erik."

"It's nothing that you didn't already know."

"But to see it from your eyes makes all the difference in the world."

* * *

><p>Charles woke to a low, rumbling growl the next time he became conscious. Sweat clung to every pore of his skin, making him feel frozen and boiling at the same time.<p>

Another growl sounded nearby, reminding him of why he woke in the first place. Shivering, Charles attempted to lift his head, barely stifling a cry of pain as white hot needles shot through his chest and sent black spots spiraling across his vision.

"Charles?"

_Hank_.

He couldn't speak and he could barely feel his telepathic abilities. This was, in a word, bad.

"Charles, can you hear me?"

Charles made a low grunt in affirmation, trying to quell the sudden nausea that welled up inside of him. He highly doubted Hank would appreciate being vomited on.

"What happened?"

"Shot."

_And __given __telepathic __inhibitors. __Those _bastards.

Erik really was beginning to rub off on him.

"_Who_ shot you?"

"M-Mo—_ra_."

It was all he could manage without gasping for breath.

Hank moved into Charles' immediate line of sight, which, admittedly, didn't extend too far past the base of his nose without becoming blurred.

"_Moira_?"

Charles could feel Hank's confusion without his abilities, it was that powerful.

"Why, Charles?"

Charles closed his eyes, not sure of how to answer. The easiest answer was that he didn't know, but that wasn't entirely true.

She shot him because of what he had done to her. Because she was afraid of him and what he could do.

It hurt, to know that Erik's belief from so long ago—_a __lifetime_—was true.

Charles settled for staying quiet. Hank seemed to understand.

"I'm sorry."

So was Charles.


	11. Where Have You Been?

_Another short chapter… Well, most of them are going to be about this length for now. There's just a lot happening in some parts and not a lot happening in other parts. But, as consolation, there are equal amounts of hurt Charles and hurt Erik in here for your consideration… _

_Also, I have been extremely busy lately, so I apologize ahead of time for not responding to your reviews. I will catch up on that tomorrow! I promise!_

**The Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 11: Where Have You Been?**

Charles woke up the next morning to find Erik gone. It wasn't that he hadn't expected it—it wasn't in Erik to say a proper good-bye to anyone. It just _hurt_ to know that his friend was gone without a trace once more.

Or maybe not without a trace, Charles amended himself, as he glanced at his bedside table and found a note, a chessboard, and the cursed helmet sitting there.

_I'm coming back. Call if you need anything. It's your move. I'll be in touch._

* * *

><p>Erik was furious when he finally located Raven, Sean, and the other small group of mutants they had managed to recruit.<p>

The moment he had made sure that all twenty-six rescued mutants weren't going to be recaptured, Erik had gone straight to the last known hideout of Charles' merry band of mutants and started searching until he had found them in a dinky motel an hour outside of Washington, DC.

"Where the hell have you been?"

He wasn't entirely sure if he was speaking English anymore, but his meaning was more than clear.

"Erik."

Raven sounded mortified and angry all at the same time.

"It has been _two__months_ and you never showed up! Where the _hell_ have you _been_?"

Sean looked pale as Raven grappled from a proper response. Erik didn't let her begin.

"Charles is still a prisoner."

Raven's eyes went from narrowed to wide in the space of a heartbeat.

"What?"

"He—I don't know what happened, but he's still there."

"We have to get him out!"

"Why the sudden change of heart? For the past two months, you have sat and done _nothing_."

"Erik-."

"I expected more from you. Both of you."

With that, he turned and stormed out of the miniscule hotel room they had been holed up in, not realizing the impact he had had on them.

* * *

><p>Erik never returned.<p>

At first, Charles merely thought that Erik was taking his time disbanding the 'Brotherhood'. But when a week gave way into a month, Charles realized that Erik wasn't going to come back.

He refused to believe that had been Erik's choice.

"Professor-."

Both Sean and Hank firmly believed that Erik had made the decision to leave once and for all, which fit into their image of Erik as the bad guy.

Charles _knew_ different.

"I don't want to hear it, Hank."

It had been exactly one month, three days, six hours, and twenty-five minutes since Charles had last seen Erik.

In that time, there had been no contact whatsoever.

That wasn't completely abnormal for Erik, given that he had once gone six months without speaking to Charles, but the telepath had hoped their friendship had moved beyond that.

Of course, he had been known to be wrong before, especially when it came to Erik.

Charles was sitting in his study, glaring over the chess game that they had started, but never finished, before the Cuban Missile Crisis. He had reset it when Erik promised to come back.

Erik had been winning. The irony of what that symbolized in the grand scheme of things, given how the events of the Cuban Missile Crisis had played out was not lost on Charles.

"Professor."

"I _don__'__t_ want to hear it, Hank."

"It's—I'm—I—I'm sorry."

Charles raised an eyebrow and looked up. He studied Hank intently, trying to find a reason for what the scientist could possibly be apologizing for.

"About what?"

"About Mag—_Erik_. I think he's in trouble."

It seemed like everyone was out to surprise him lately. First Erik, with his broken promises, and now Hank using Erik's actual name and not making it sound poisonous.

"Why the sudden change in heart?"

It felt as though that was all he could say lately.

"I—have you seen today's newspaper?"

Charles took a brief glance into Hank's mind to figure out the point of this conversation. Normally, he would have never done such a thing, but this was a special circumstance.

What he found in Hank's mind was horrifying.

* * *

><p>Charles lost track of how long he drifted in and out of consciousness. He was vaguely aware of someone else—probably Hank—checking his wounds every now and then and growling.<p>

Other people came and went—it's either that, or Hank started having arguments with himself about Charles' absolutely dismal physical state.

"His wound's infected! If you don't want him to die, then you should start doing something about it."

"We _can__'__t_. We don't have the authorization!"

"Well you better get it or otherwise, he's going to _die_ and you're not going to have a telepath to run your machine!"

There were a few times when it was just the two of them and Charles projected so much that it was all Hank to do _not_ to pass out from the pain.

"M'sorry."

Charles could barely get the words past his lips.

Hank was slumped against the wall, his head cradled in his hands.

"It's not your fault, Professor."

Charles drifted back into unconsciousness.

* * *

><p>Erik groaned as he picked himself off the floor. Blood seeped from new bruises and cuts, courtesy of the CIA and their imaginative ways to get him to talk.<p>

"Magneto!"

Raven—_Mystique_'s concerned voice rang out from across the corridor. Erik closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before turning to face her.

"I'm all right."

She was in her natural blue form—she rarely shifted out of it, nowadays. Her yellow eyes were wide with horror.

"What did they do to you?"

Erik shook his head.

"Nothing."

It was times like these when he understood why Charles went to the lengths he did to keep Raven safe. It wasn't that she couldn't handle it—she was stronger than anyone Erik had ever known, with the exception of her brother—but it was because she shouldn't have to. None of them should.

Erik hated it when Charles was right.

"Don't lie to me."

They were the only two left of their renegade mutants now. They didn't know what happened to Azazel, just that he hadn't lasted very long at the CIA base. Angel had disappeared three days ago. She had been dragged away for questioning and had never returned.

Erik didn't have to be a telepath to know that they'd take Raven next. It was their way to break him.

He hated the fact that it would probably work. Raven had grown to be more than just a fellow mutant to him—she had become the sister he never had.

"I would never lie to you."

"You're doing it now."

"It's nothing that you should be concerned about."

Raven glared at him. Erik almost laughed when he recognized it as the same look she used to give Charles.

"I hate it when you say things like that."

"I know."

She sighed angrily and crossed her arms.

"We need to get out of here."

"We can't. Not without help."

Erik didn't need to be a telepath to read the thoughts on Raven's face. She was the only one who knew about Erik's run-ins with her brother and Erik knew that she hoped Charles would come through for them.

He wouldn't admit to having the same hope. Not when he had literally vanished from Charles' life again after promising to return.

"Charles _will_ come for us."

Erik wished that she was right.

* * *

><p>Hank was gone the next time Charles woke up. He didn't come back for the entire half an hour Charles was conscious, either.<p>

Charles tried to pretend he wasn't alarmed by what Hank's absence meant.

* * *

><p><strong>Note: <strong>Angel isn't dead. She just isn't going to be in here for a while. Same with Azazel.


	12. Despair

_I apologize for how confusing the last chapter was—it honestly made more sense in my head than I guess came across. Basically, for those of you that are confused: Erik has been taken by the CIA in the past and in the present, he's pissed off at Raven and the other mutants for leaving him and Charles for so long at the mercy of the CIA. Hopefully, this one will clear things up for those of you who are still confused._

_I'll have a considerably longer chapter up on Thursday as a Thanksgiving gift and then another chapter on Friday. It's all already written—I'm just fine tuning things and going back to make sure everything make sense. _

_Again, sorry for how confusing the last chapter got. I'm human and sometimes forget the rest of the world doesn't see the entire arc of a story at one time like I do. _

_And, I'm in the process of responding to all of your reviews. Thank you for reading and telling me what you thought! I appreciate it!_

**The Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 12: Despair**

The newspaper crumpled in Charles' hand as he glared out at the sunny landscape beyond the mansion. For nearly a month, he had searched for Erik and Raven, but he had been unable to reach Erik's mind and hadn't found _any_ news whatsoever since Hank had initially found out the others had been taken by the CIA.

Not until this morning, when the government brazenly broadcasted their intent to the entire world. Or, at least, to the entire state of New York.

_**MUTANT**__**ROUND**__**UP**_.

The article went on to describe what mutants were—_with __words __from __Charles__' __thesis_—and the danger they posed to society. There was a sketch of a person who looked more like an alligator than a human, with thick scales and fanged teeth. It was supposed to be a mutant.

_Well, if that's what they're looking for, then they aren't going to find very many of us._

Charles sighed at the voice that sounded suspiciously like Erik and resisted the urge to light the newspaper on fire.

"Professor?"

Charles turned to find both Hank and Sean in matching black jumpsuits. Hank held a third one in his hands.

"I—I've been working on these for a while. Just finished them. Figured it might be time for a test-run."

* * *

><p>Erik stood in the middle of the parking lot, resisting the urge to crumple the cars into nothing. That would bring the government running faster than anything.<p>

He clenched his fists, wincing when there was a loud, groaning sound and one of the car doors dented.

"Is that really necessary?"

Raven was perched on the now damaged car, her arms folded across her chest. Her yellow eyes were sad.

"Yes."

They were quiet for a moment while Erik let go of his anger.

"Where's Sean?"

"He—he's out shopping. We're going to need supplies if we want to stay here much longer."

Erik was silent. Raven sighed.

"I'm sorry, Erik."

He turned away from her. She pressed on.

"We didn't—we didn't know—_I_'_m __sorry_."

"He's your brother and you left him to that fate."

"We were busy trying to avoid being caught ourselves!"

"So that's the excuse you want to give Charles—that you were too _busy_ to save him?"

A rearview mirror on one of the cars warped into a mass of metal and broken glass.

"He told us that our main concern was to be for ourselves."

"It's _Charles_. Of course he says that. The man has no self-preservation."

Raven glared.

"You think I don't know that?"

"Then where the _hell_ have you been, damn it?"

"Look, the second you went back in for Charles, we were being hunted. Sean was almost caught and Hank was _shot_with a tranquilizer. We had to go into hiding and by that time, you had been moved and we had no way of finding our where you were."

"You could have infiltrated the CIA. You've done it a hundred times before, Raven!"

"It was too dangerous! Our last mission put a code red on the mutant situation and the government has orders to kill _anyone_ they suspect of being involved in mutant activity! I'm sorry, Erik, but we couldn't risk that. Not when there aren't that many of us left. Charles wouldn't have wanted that."

"_Wouldn__'__t_ want that."

"What?"

"He wouldn't want that. Don't talk about him in the past tense. He's not dead and he's not going to die."

_Not __for __me._ _I__'__m __not __worth __that._

* * *

><p>"What did you find out?"<p>

A kick to his side, followed by a barely concealed grunt of pain. _Broken __ribs_.

"What did you steal?"

A punch this time, to his already bruised face. A tooth rattled in his mouth.

"Who are you working for?"

A glass of water was set in front of him. He swallowed, wincing at the dryness of his throat.

"This can all end, _Magneto_, if you just tell us what we want to know."

He stretched out his arm. The sleeve on his jumpsuit slid closer to his elbow. A small string of numbers became visible.

A foot came down on his arm.

Pain laced through it as the bone shattered. He closed his eyes and bit his lip, unable to contain the whimper of pain that escaped.

_Don't give in to it._

"Bring in the shape shifter! We'll see if we can't use her to get him to talk."

_I__'__m __sorry, __Charles_.

* * *

><p>What felt like a lifetime, but was in reality only a week later, Charles finally woke up. Pain still radiated through his chest with every movement, but it was no longer powerful enough to send him into darkness.<p>

Hank was sitting in his usual position on the floor, with his head slumped into his hands. Charles attempted to prop himself up on the pillows, but a new wave of pain froze him.

"Bloody hell."

The breathless swear caught Hank's attention. His head shot up and his yellow eyes widened as he saw Charles wide awake and staring back at him.

"Charles!"

An onslaught of crashed over Charles' mind. It shouldn't have made him sigh in relief—they were terrible feelings, all around—but he was ridiculously happy that he had his powers back.

Not having them made him feel blind and deaf and _helpless_, a feeling he hated.

"I'm all right, Hank."

Charles answered the unspoken question in Hank's mind, hardly realizing that Hank _hadn__'__t_ spoken until the furry man's eyes widened in relief.

"I thought you might—I—they gave you an insane amount of those inhibitors. I didn't know what the side effects would be."

Charles was content to listen to Hank babble, if only it meant that he was _alive_. After what felt like decades of being caught in that semi-state between consciousness and unconsciousness, it was a miracle that Charles could actually focus on anything at all.

"Professor?"

Charles blinked, realizing that Hank had told him something important. With a brief glance into Hank's mind, Charles mentally sighed.

The CIA wanted Charles to use Cerebro as soon as he was conscious.

They had been monitoring his vitals so they would know exactly when that was.

They were on their way.


	13. The Plan

_Happy Thanksgiving everyone! And to those who don't celebrate it… I'll enjoy my turkey for you while you enjoy this chapter. : ). _

_I really like this chapter, because there's a lot of awesomeness to go around in here. And Sean's back! I feel like he's not really in this story… so I put him in here. _

_We get our first look at Stryker in this story in this chapter! I know, thirteen chapters in and he's just now making an appearance… just goes to show how my muse likes to draw things out._

_And this one broke the three page mark for once! It's four and a half pages. _

_Also, I'm in the process of responding to all of your reviews. Don't worry—I will give you all a personal thank-you for being so awesome. _

**The Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 13: The Plan**

It was a clear, dark, chilly night. The guards outside the complex shivered as they stood on ceremony in the shadows, frozen fingers clutching the ice cold metal of their guns.

A faint red light briefly broke through the darkness, followed by a puff of smoke as one of the guards lit a cigarette.

An imposing man dressed in a warm black jacket and pants approached the guards. He carried a briefcase in one leather-gloved hand and a gun in the other.

"Have you seen anything unusual?"

The man's name was William Stryker, a rising young military man who was known for his hatred of mutants. None of the guards liked him—he was arrogant and cruel.

"We wouldn't remember if we did, would we? Since the other side has a telepath and all."

Stryker turned, not expecting the _sarcasm_ from his guards. Usually they were men of few words.

A young man, barely out of his teens, with a shock of red hair and a slightly drugged expression grinned back at him. He had a joint in one hand—he had been the one to light up then.

"What is your name, _private_?"

The red haired man smirked.

"Banshee."

Stryker blinked and then the man was gone.

"Where did he go?"

The rest of the guards gave him a blank look.

Stryker tightened his hand on his gun. The mutants were here.

* * *

><p>It was dark.<p>

That was Charles' only thought when they plugged him into Cerebro.

The first time Charles used Hank's invention was full of color, light, and _brilliance_ as he connected himself with millions—if not billions—of minds. There had been nothing else in the universe that was quite like using Cerebro.

The awe he felt when he used it never diminished, even when the machine tore away at his defenses and control and left him vulnerable—which was pretty often, because Charles never really did learn how to take things in small amounts.

But this time, there was only darkness.

"What the—someone get that blue lion over here! He said that it was fully operational!"

Charles opened his eyes to the large, circular room. There were two scientists sitting on the far side, writing diligently in their notebooks. Stryker stood behind them, glaring at Charles and the machine the telepath was chained to.

Charles resisted the inexplicable urge to smile. Something about the frustration Stryker was portraying amused him to no end.

The door behind Stryker opened to admit two guards dragging Hank in. Charles froze at the sight of fresh blood dripping from Hank's nose.

"There is a problem with your machine."

Hank looked at Charles with wide, yellow eyes. Charles nodded once.

"I'll have to run some tests."

His voice didn't even stutter.

"You said that it would be working _today_, that we could start finding more mutants _today_."

Stryker was furious. Hank glanced back at Charles.

"It's still new technology. There might be a loose connection in the wiring."

"Fix it! I want answers, today!"

Stryker slammed his fist against the metal paneling of the control table. Hank jumped at the sound.

_Charles…_

_I know what I'm doing, Hank._

_I don't think provoking him is the best idea._

_I__'__ll __be _fine_. __Really._

Hank's mind still felt unconvinced, but none of that showed in his voice.

"I don't know if this _can_ be fixed. I might have to do a total system shutdown."

Stryker strode for and grabbed Hank by the collar of his jumpsuit. Hank growled in surprise.

"If it takes you longer than three days, the first mutants that _telepath_ finds are going to _die_. Painfully."

Charles was horrified.

_No._

Stryker turned back to him, shoving Hank forcefully to the ground in the process.

"And if there isn't a problem with the machine and it's _you_ that's refusing to use your powers, then I'm going to find your little metal wielder friend and kill him myself."

_I__'__d __like __to __see __you __try_.

"Stay out of my head, _freak_."

Charles glared at Stryker, unable to say anything.

Stryker turned to the guards.

"Tie the _beast_ up outside when he's done working and then give the telepath a double dose of the inhibitors. I don't want him so much as _thinking_ about using his powers until we need him to use the machine, you hear me?"

_That's going to take you outside your three day time limit._

Stryker stormed over to Charles.

"Listen to me, _Xavier_. I don't care how necessary the government thinks you are—I think you are nothing more than a disease that needs to be stamped out. You read me?"

"You just told me to stay out of your head."

Stryker turned to the scientists.

"Order the guards not to give that telepath _anything_ outside of the inhibitors. No food, no water, no painkillers for the next two days."

He turned back to Charles.

"We'll see how cocky you are then."

* * *

><p>Erik became fuzzily aware of someone standing over him as he slowly became conscious once more. At first, he thought it was Raven—she was more than able to become small enough to slip into and out of the plastic bars of their cage—but then he remembered that she wasn't any better off than he was at the moment.<p>

He forced his eyes open, an effort that took far too long and was far too unsatisfying as he merely got a blurred look of the world.

_Erik…_

That sad, pained _British_-accented voice did not belong to his thoughts.

Erik blinked, trying to clear his vision. He had to be imagining things—the damn government had built mirrors into the walls to prevent any far reaching telepaths from reaching any of the mutants.

"You are not imagining things, my friend."

There was a slight, sad chuckle. Erik heard the rustle of clothing, and suddenly, a hand dressed in fingerless gloves brushed against his forehead.

"You're running fever."

Erik tried to come up with an appropriate response other than blank surprise that Charles was actually _here_.

"Hank, how's Raven?"

Erik flinched at the loudness of Charles' voice in such close vicinity to his ear.

"Sorry."

The telepath's apology was a whisper.

Hank's loud growl came from across the hall.

"She's in the same shape he is."

"_Damn_."

Erik raised an eyebrow.

"Don't give me that look, Erik. Can you sit up?"

Seeing as he could barely _see_, sitting up might be a problem.

Charles sighed.

"I have an idea. You're not going to like, but I can siphon off some of your pain. Take the edge off, so to speak. At least until we get out of here."

Erik tried to shake his head, but pain flared up along the back of his neck. He let out a grunt, which Charles mistook for affirmation.

He pressed his fingers against Erik's temple.

"D_-don__'__t_."

"Shut up, Erik. Don't worry, the second we're free of this place, I'll let you go back to being a masochist."

"I don't _like_ the pain."

He felt better. A lot better, actually. His vision cleared and he was able to see properly for the first time in days.

He narrowed his eyes at Charles, who looked extremely pale dressed in a black coat and slacks. He looked _normal_, outside of his face being scrunched in pain.

Erik mentally growled.

"You're an idiot."

"I've been told that on multiple occasions, mostly by you."

"You shouldn't have done that."

"It's the only way to get you out of here safely."

"And what about Raven?"

"Hank's carrying her. I didn't think you'd wish to suffer the same indignity."

Erik hated it when Charles was so… _Charles_.

"That is a very profound thought, my friend."

Charles smiled. If he was shaking slightly, then Erik decided not to notice.

"Where's Sean?"

"Being distinctly unhelpful by provoking Stryker."

"Couldn't you just erase Stryker's memory of seeing Sean?"

Charles gave him a look that implied he was extremely stupid.

"We can have this discussion later. Are there any other mutants here?"

Erik shook his head, closing his eyes for a brief moment to quell the nausea that overcame him. Concussion then.

"None. I think the only reason why we're here is because it's mostly plastic."

Charles looked uneasy.

"What is it?"

Charles shook his head.

"Later."

Erik sighed, wincing as the motion pulled at his chest. Charles looked sympathetic.

"I can only take away the pain you feel, not the actual injuries. I'm sorry, my friend."

The worst part about it was that he actually _was_ sorry.

Charles looked like he wanted to say something, but bit his lip at the last minute.

"Let's go."

Hank stood outside the cell, carrying an unconscious Raven in his arms.

Erik felt every last one of Charles' wave of emotions as he looked at his adopted sister for the first time in over a year.

She was in her natural blue form—she had lost the ability to change at will after their last 'interrogation' with Stryker. Blood seeped from a cut on her forehead and matted her red hair. Her left wrist was at an odd angle—obviously broken. A mottled mass of darker and lighter blue mixed in with green, purple, and yellow shadowed her chest.

"_Raven_."

Charles' horrified whisper was so full of love and concern that it made Erik feel like he was intruding on something private.

"Sean says that Stryker's getting suspicious."

Charles blinked at Hank's words, his blue eyes wide with both the pain he was taking from Erik and from the shock of seeing his sister in such a state.

"Right. Let's go."

His voice shook violently.

Hank looked concerned as he looked from Erik to Charles and back again. He sighed, obviously realizing what Charles was doing.

"Professor-."

"Let's _go_, Hank."

Charles turned back to Erik, who was now slumped against the wall.

"Can you walk?"

Erik honestly had no idea. He didn't remember much after Stryker brought Raven into the interrogation room—just blinding pain in his arm and then nothingness.

Charles muttered something neither Hank nor Erik could make out, before he crouched down beside Erik.

"Put your arm around my shoulders."

"You're going to fall over."

"Do you trust me?"

There was a moment of hesitation that seemed to last a lifetime.

"…Yes."

It was the truth.

"Then do what I tell you."

Erik wrapped his good arm around Charles' shoulders. Charles gently pulled him to his feet. Erik couldn't help the hiss of pain that escaped him as the movement jostled his broken ribs, but the pain quickly faded.

"Charles…"

"I'm _fine_, Erik. Now let's get out of here."


	14. Desperation

_This is the shortest chapter yet and I apologize for that, because I leave you on some pretty intense cliffhangers. But have no fear, the next chapter is already written and will be up next week… so you won't have to wait around for six months wondering what happens next. Don't worry, my friends. It will all be explained. Eventually. _

_Also, I have decided against not posting next week... so make sure you tune in for your usual Tuesday and Friday updates._

**The Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 14: Desperation**

Erik spent the rest of the week locked up in a hotel room. Raven tried to talk to him, but he had flat out refused to so much as acknowledge the fact that she was there.

She tried to pretend that his actions didn't mean that Charles was in serious danger.

"Erik!"

It was six days after he had managed to escape and left Charles behind. Raven didn't blame Erik—she knew how _idiotic_ her brother could be—but that didn't give him the right to blame _them_ for not coming sooner.

There was silence, not that Raven had expected anything different. She had hoped, maybe, that Erik would have gotten over his temper tantrum by now and would become the leader they needed if they were going to rescue Charles.

Raven turned to walk away, to go find Sean and tell him that they were on their own. The muffled sound of footsteps coming toward the door stopped her.

The door creaked open and Erik stepped out. Raven gasped at the sight of him. Part of her had forgotten that he had been held prisoner too.

A dark bruise covered the entire right side of his face, crisscrossed with multiple cuts. His nose looked broken and his right eye was almost entirely swollen shut.

He blinked owlishly at her, folding his arms over his chest. From the way he was standing, it was clear that he had at least one broken rib.

"I know where Charles is."

His voice was rough and scratchy, though whether it was from lack of use or actual damage was almost impossible to tell.

Raven's eyes widened.

"What?"

"Charles. I know where he is."

* * *

><p>Hank pushed the doors open with his foot before he let out a startled growl.<p>

Charles peered over his shoulder and almost growled himself.

An entire army stood in the compound, their weapons locked and aimed at the three mutants.

"I can handle them."

Erik's whisper was barely audible, even to Charles, who had his ear almost directly in front of the German's mouth. The idea of Erik being able to use his powers in any shape was almost laughable.

"This is very not good."

Hank gave Charles a blank stare that clearly read _no __kidding, __now __what __the __hell __do __we __do __now_?

Charles honestly did not have the answer for that. He could barely think past the dull throb that was growing in his head from keeping so many illusions—_so __completely __pointless __now_—or the constant ache in all of his muscles from where he had been taking Erik's pain.

He was, in a word, fried.

Erik wasn't much better off—it went to show just how stubborn the metal wielder could be that he was _conscious_ and _mobile_ despite his injuries.

Charles would know.

Luckily, Charles was saved from having to reply to Hank's unspoken, unthought-of question by a large military truck screaming to a halt in between Hank, Charles, Erik, and the guards.

Charles didn't need to read the mind of the driver to recognize that overenthusiastic scream that belted from the cab of the car.

"He really did spend way too much time with Alex."

Charles nodded in agreement to Erik's statement, just as the guards decided to open fire on the truck.

* * *

><p>Raven stepped inside Erik's motel room and was immediately stunned and slightly disturbed by what she found.<p>

A large map of the eastern seaboard dominated one wall, with strings and thumbtacks crisscrossed all over it. Rough, but highly detailed sketches of multiple CIA and military men involved in rounding up the mutants were taped haphazardly to the wall beside the map. Large white folders with official looking stamps on them and scattered papers in several different languages littered the desk.

The bed alone had avoided the chaos that reigned the room. It looked as it was the one thing in the entire room that hadn't been touched.

Erik stood in the center of the mayhem, unshaven and bruised. He obviously hadn't been taking care of himself since Charles had been left behind.

Raven picked her way around a stack of books on the CIA—how Erik had gotten his hands on any of this was beyond her imagination—and sat in the desk chair. She stared at Erik, waiting for him to speak.

"He's here."

Erik pointed to a red tack positioned to the right of Langley, Virginia.

Raven didn't say anything, knowing that if she did, Erik would shut down and turn vigilante.

"It's one of their more secure bases. It's going to be almost impossible to break into. I have the schematics over there."

He gestured to a mass of papers on the left hand side of the desk. Raven glanced at them, noticing a section on the blueprint that had been circled and had a question mark beside it.

"What is that?"

"I don't know. It looks like a staircase, but that would be impossible. The building is only one floor."

Raven frowned.

"You don't think-."

She trailed off. Erik glanced away from the map, which he had been staring at hungrily, as if glaring at it would magically make Charles appear.

"What?"

Raven bit her lip.

"They took Hank. Just Hank. They had the chance to take me and Sean and a couple of the others, but they just took Hank."

Erik's face darkened.

"They're rebuilding Cerebro."

Raven's eyes widened at his matter of fact tone.

"How do you know that for sure?"

"Charles overheard the thoughts of the guards. They're rebuilding Cerebro to round the rest of us up and eliminate us."

Erik curled his hands into his fist and closed his eyes. Raven understood his anger, even if it terrified her. He had already been the victim of one genocide.

"What if he's not there?"

"Failure is _not_ an option."

She shivered at the cold finality of his voice, but agreed with the sentiment. They could _not_ lose Charles.


	15. Rubik's Cube Conundrum

_I want to open this chapter by posing a simple question to you: How would you solve a Rubik's cube with every other sticker missing? _

_Think about that while you read this chapter and feel free to give me your answer at the end. _

**The Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 15: Rubik's Cube Conundrum **

Erik closed his eyes as his pain suddenly hit him full force like a train. He looked at Charles, and then realized what had happened.

Charles had frozen time so the bullets wouldn't hit the truck and kill Sean, or them. But he was overreaching himself—the strain he was under was visible in his eyes and the way his muscles tensed underneath Erik's arm.

"Charles…"

"Be quiet, Erik. I can only hold these men for so long."

Hank glanced at Charles, who nodded once, before proceeding to the back of the truck. Charles and Erik hobbled after him, going slower now because Erik could feel every last bit of his injuries.

"I'm sorry, my friend."

Charles' whisper was so faint that it barely carried to Erik's ears.

They made it to the truck what felt like hours later. Between Hank and Charles, Erik was somehow maneuvered into the truck. It was a painful process and Erik was fairly certain he blacked out at some point, for when he opened his eyes again, the truck was moving at a steady rate and there were low murmurs coming from nearby. From the sound of the voices, it was Hank and Sean.

"We're about an hour outside of Westchester."

"We're going to have to switch vehicles—driving a military truck up to the mansion might draw suspicion."

"We've done it before!"

There was a low, heavy sigh across the truck. Erik glanced over there, and through blurred eyes, he could just make out Charles leaning against a metal pole. Raven's head rested on his shoulder and her eyes were closed. He had an arm wrapped around her waist, making sure she didn't fall off the slender bench she was curled up on.

Erik wondered why Raven ever chose to leave Charles and come with him. It was obvious they cared about each other, and Charles was the safer opinion.

_You __made __her __feel __worthy_.

Erik blinked at the sudden contact inside his head. His vision cleared slightly, enough to show Charles' apologetic, though amused expression.

_I was waiting for you to wake up, my friend. I wasn't intruding._

_It's all right, Charles. _

Charles offered a small smile, before scowling up at the front of the truck. Erik raised an eyebrow.

_Hank and Sean are being complete idiots._

_Is that the technical term for annoying bastards?_

_That is highly impolite of you, Erik._

_You're the one that called them idiots._

Charles huffed a sigh and then winced. Erik belatedly realized that he was feeling a lot less painful than he probably should and that blood was seeping from Charles' nose.

_You're going to kill yourself._

_What a way to go._

_Charles…_

Charles didn't reply. He merely closed his eyes. Moments later, a dull, but constant throb took residency in Erik's bones.

_Thank__you_.

_Only __you __would __thank __me __for __hurting __you_.

_I'm a paradox._

_Wrapped up inside a mystery surrounded by a Rubik's cube with every other sticker missing._

_Don't be ridiculous Charles. I'm not that complicated._

_Right. All I have to do is figure out how to properly put the Rubik's cube back together with every other sticker missing._

…_You could always take the rest of the stickers off._

Charles opened his eyes in disbelief.

_Really? _That _is __your __solution?_

Erik gave him a twisted, half-asleep smirk.

_Sure._

_Erik?_

_Yes, Charles?_

_Has anyone told you how utterly insane you are?_

* * *

><p>It was raining. Charles could hear it on the tin roof and feel it as it dripped down from a small hole in the ceiling.<p>

It was also cold. He was shivering. Charles couldn't figure out Whether it was from lack of sustenance or if it was just plain _cold_ in the cell.

Charles also hadn't seen Hank in four days. He tried to pretend that he wasn't concerned by this fact, but he was never very good at fooling himself.

The first day had gone all right. He had spent most of the time asleep, which staved off the pain from the gunshot wound and the annoying hunger and thirst pangs that attacked him at random intervals.

The second day, things started going down hill. Stryker had decided to up his game and not let an injured, powerless telepath _sleep_ at all. He had the guards running alarms and drills outside of Charles' cell from dawn till dusk, only pausing long enough for Stryker to stand outside of Charles' door and drink a giant cup of tea.

What Charles wouldn't give for a cup of tea.

The hunger, he could deal with. He had been dealing with it for the better part of a month and a half now, despite Erik and Hank's constant urgings that he needed to eat more.

The gunshot wound was more of a dull, constant ache that was easy to ignore. It was starting to become itchy—a sign Charles was fairly certain was _not_ good—but Charles could still put it to the back of his mind.

The thirst was slowly driving him mad. It soon became all he could think about, taking precedence over the gunshot wound in his chest and the fact that Hank was still missing.

Charles was contemplating maneuvering himself so he could catch some of the rain drops to quell his aching throat when footsteps sounded down the hall.

He reached out with his powers, which he was slowly being able to control again, but couldn't sense anything. He was too weak, from the hunger and the thirst.

The door opened. Stryker stepped in and studied Charles' limp form on the cot. Something about the almost comatose telepath made him smile.

Charles' heart burned with hatred. He could finally understand what possessed Erik to kill Shaw three years ago. It was slowly beginning to possess Charles as well, with every accidental insight he had into Stryker's mind. The things he had done to Charles' fellow mutants—_to__children_—were unthinkable.

A man that cruel could not be allowed to live.

"It is time to see whether you've learned your lesson, _freak_."

Charles glared at him.

Stryker chuckled in response.

"Guards! Take him to Cerebro. And if he doesn't cooperate, kill the furry freak."

* * *

><p>Someone was snoring. Loudly.<p>

It was the first thing Erik noticed upon waking up.

He blinked, clearing his vision, and turned his head, pleased to find that the motion didn't send pain shooting through his skull.

He was rather surprised at what—or rather, _who_—he found sitting by his bedside.

Charles was sitting in the overstuffed leather chair with a blanket wrapped haphazardly around his shoulders. His head was buried in his hands and he was fast asleep.

And he was _snoring_.

"Ch'les?"

It came out nothing more than a croaky whisper. Erik swallowed, wincing at the dryness of his throat. He moved his head again, this time glancing at the bedside table.

A glass of water was perched within easy reaching distance. Beside it was a Rubik's cube. Half of its stickers were missing.

Erik smiled softly as he reached for the water.

He let out a groan as pain spiked through him, lighting his chest and the rest of him on fire.

Charles' head shot up and his sleepy blue eyes were wide as he glanced wildly around, before his gaze settled on Erik. Confusion and concern littered his face as he glanced from Erik to the glass of water. Then, understanding dawned on him.

"You could have just asked, you know."

Erik scowled. Charles sighed and handed Erik the glass of water.

"I'd offer to help you drink it, but I think you'd take that as an insult to your pride."

"M'a'my'ry."

Charles raised an eyebrow.

"You'll have to forgive me, my friend. I have been ordered to _not_ use my abilities at the moment, else risk an aneurism. So, my knowledge of what you're actually thinking or attempting to say is gone."

Erik frowned.

"An'sm?"

Charles ran a hand through his hair. Erik noticed a thick white bandage encasing the limb from his knuckles down past his wrist.

"Apparently, telepathy and brains don't get along very well."

He didn't say anything else. Erik glared at him. Charles smiled benignly in response.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine."

"An entire word! Congratulations, my friend, there may be hope for you yet."

Beneath the sarcastic façade, Erik got the sense that Charles was hiding something, something beyond the injured hand and the references to aneurisms.

"What happened to you?"

"Was that an entire sentence? By George, I think you're going to make a full recovery."

"_Charles_."

Charles sighed heavily and looked away. When he spoke, it was in a soft voice, barely loud enough for Erik to hear.

"You almost didn't make it, Erik. God, the things I saw in your head… I'm surprised you _did_ make it. And then they did those same things to Raven… I'm sorry, my friend. I am so sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for. We lived. We're going to be fine."

Charles closed his eyes.

"But others are not. You won't be the last ones rounded up. And they won't be so lucky."

Erik was quiet for a moment, choosing his next words very carefully.

"You know then that we have to stop them. The humans. Before it's too late. Do you have it in you to allow that?"

"I don't know, my friend."

It was a testament to just how badly Charles had been rattled by Erik's condition that he didn't preach equality and peace for all.

It scared Erik more than he was willing to admit.


	16. Irony

_More cliffhangers! I'm having way too much fun with those. I should go to therapy._

_But, luckily for you, my fellow readers, I do happen to have the next chapter written… So you'll find out the conclusion to this cliffhanger next week._

_Enjoy!_

**The Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 16: Irony**

It would be too cliché to say that the guards dragged Charles down a long, dark, windowless hallway and down a flight of stairs, but that really is actually what happened.

The procession of three guards—two supporting Charles and one holding a gun to his head, threatening to shoot him if he tried any mental trickery—a reluctant Charles who kept almost falling on his face, and Stryker halted outside an ominous metal door.

Charles could just make out Hank growling inside. He wouldn't admit to the tremendous sigh of relief that crashed over him as he finally had solid proof that his friend was still alive.

Charles was shoved roughly inside the door, stopped from connecting with the cold ground only by a rough hand on the collar of his shirt.

He glanced up, stunned to find a mischievous pair of _yellow_ eyes staring out at him from an otherwise serious man's face.

_Raven?_

Charles really hoped his mental shout of surprise didn't project to Stryker.

The serious man blinked and nodded once.

_It__'__s__me_.

_What the bloody hell are you doing here?_

_Rescuing you, of course._

_Get out! They'll kill you._

_Have __you __seen __a __mirror __lately? __If __you __stay __here __much __longer, __they__'__ll __kill _you.

Charles glared at her. She glared right back.

_You need to get out of here._

_You've said that already._

_I mean it Raven, leave. You don't need to see what's going to happen._

It was going to be ugly, he was sure. While Charles couldn't actively read Stryker's mind, or really anyone else's aside from Raven's, he got the sense that something was wrong from the excited air Stryker was prancing around the room with.

Well, it wasn't _excited_ and he definitely was _not_ prancing, but there was definitely an almost _cheerful_ tone to the way Stryker engaged everyone in the room.

"My fellow humans! Today, we shall witness the _execution_ of our enemy race!"

_What_?

Raven's mental screech made Charles wince.

_I don't know. I can't read his mind._

"With this machine I call _Cerebro_, we shall finally end this threat to our country and to the world!"

_What does he mean, Charles?_

_I __don__'__t _know, _Raven!_

She was terrified.

So was he.

"And what's better—we'll use a mutant to do it! Bring him here!"

Stryker gestured to Raven, who's eyes were still wide with shock.

_Close __your __mouth __or __otherwise __he__'__ll __suspect __something__'__s __wrong_.

Raven looked at him in horror.

_How can you just stand there and pretend like nothing's wrong?_

_Because you're the one holding me up._

She didn't appreciate his dark humor, nor did Hank, who let out a growl as Raven pulled Charles over to the machine. He fought against the guards, breaking free momentarily.

"Someone contain the beast!"

_Irony. Got to love it sometimes._

_Charles… _

_It will be all right, Raven._

_Don't die._

_It's not me I'm worried about._

He was shoved forcefully into the hard metal chair—not by Raven, but by some other guard who thought that Raven was taking far too long. Black spots danced across his vision. He barely contained his cry of pain as his chest ignited.

Breathing short and fast, Charles forced his eyes open again, not realizing they had closed in the first place. Stone cold horror filled him as one of the scientists approached him with the Cerebro helmet.

_No._

He could finally read the minds of the scientists, even if Stryker's was still out of reach.

They had Hank recalibrate the machine so that Charles' focus was intensified. Should he use his powers to find even one mutant, _all_ of them would die.

_No…_

Stryker had threatened to kill Hank if Charles didn't cooperate. The bastard.

He had no choice.

Stryker was talking again, this time directly in Charles' ear. His voice was arrogant and proud and somehow filled with hatred.

It made Charles want to scream.

"I believe the term is _checkmate_."

* * *

><p>The next time Erik was awake, Charles was gone. There was a note on his bedside table, beside the Rubik's cube. Erik noticed every other sticker was missing.<p>

_We have a game of chess to finish. It was your move, I believe. –X _

Erik smiled slightly, before scowling. How the hell was he supposed to get out of bed and down a flight of stairs on his own?

_You're stubborn enough to figure something out. Though I would advise you, watch out for Sean. He was smoking something earlier and he's a little out of it._

Erik blinked at the sudden intrusion in his head, but found that it didn't bother him as much as it used to.

_It's about bloody time._

_Charles, how much have you had to drink?_

There was a condescending mental sniff and then the mental link disappeared.

Erik sighed.

_Stupid, irritating, drunk telepaths._

* * *

><p>"It is the dawn of a new age, my brothers and sisters! A day where humans live without fear of their mutant cousins!"<p>

Charles honestly tried not to think about the irony in Stryker's speech as one of the scientists hooked him up to the machine. He longed to struggle, but it was a battle to stay conscious, let alone fight back.

"We will avenge the deaths of those who have died protecting us!"

Charles wondered what Stryker meant by that—he and Erik had flat out refused to kill anyone. Well, Charles flat out refused—Erik went along with the idea after a lot of persuading. No one _had_ died. At least, none of the humans.

He wondered why he had spent so much time protecting them if _this_ was how they were going to repay him.

_Damn it, Erik. Why did you have to be right?_

"This will be the beginning of a whole new world!"

The doors opened unexpectedly.

Charles blinked, feeling blank surprise followed by stone cold _fear_ crash over him as Erik strode into the room.

Stryker grinned.

The machine turned on.


	17. A Question of Morals

_I know, I know, I'm seriously behind on responding to your reviews. That's why I have decided to devote the first hour and a half of school tomorrow replying to them! In the mean time, I'm extremely grateful for all of your support and kind words! Hopefully I haven't driven you all away from my lack of visible appreciation. _

_In the mean time (shameless plugging of new XMFC story)... if you're bored... I started a spin-off story for this 'verse. It's called 'The Winter of Our Discontent.' Feel free to read it... it's going to be 3 chapters long and be finished by December 25th. _

_And now, for your regularly scheduled broadcast..._

**The Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 17: A Question of Morals**

Charles was slumped in one of the leather chairs, looking more tired than Erik ever remembered seeing him. He barely glanced up as Erik walked unsteadily into the room and all but fell into the seat across from him.

"Are you all right, my friend?"

Erik almost snorted at the irony of Charles' question.

"I am fine, Charles."

Charles nodded once, before sighing. He started fiddling the bandage on his wrist.

"What happened to your hand?"

A flash of followed by the sickening sound of flesh connecting to bricks floated through Erik's mind.

Charles visibly winced and brushed his hand against his temple.

"Sorry."

"What was that?"

The telepath closed his eyes for a moment, before opening them again. He didn't look at Erik.

"It was an emotional imbalance caused by taking away your pain and an overuse of my telepathy."

"What?"

Charles sighed.

"For once, I would love not to have to worry about mutants or powers or the battle for good and evil and just play chess."

Erik pushed his knight forward, deciding to give in to Charles' wish to avoid the topic.

Just for a little while.

"Your move."

Charles smiled softly.

"Your sarcasm is amusing to say the least."

He moved a pawn to block Erik's knight.

The game continued in silence for a few minutes, before another thought occurred to Erik.

"You're wearing a t-shirt and jeans."

"Why is my change in fashion so confusing for you?"

"You don't look like a professor anymore."

"And that's a problem for you?"

_Yes_.

"No."

Charles smiled again as he maneuvered his queen to get away from Erik's rook and bishop. He left his king wide open.

"You always get offended when you think I read your mind."

"I thought we weren't talking about powers."

"I'm not. I don't need a power to know what you're thinking most of the time, Erik. Even when you're wearing that blasted helmet."

Erik moved his bishop into striking distance.

Charles' grin turned feral as he moved his knight.

"Checkmate."

Erik stared at the board, trying to figure out how his friend had beaten him.

"I've had a lot of time to study this game."

It was obvious he wasn't talking just about the chess match.

"And what is your conclusion?"

"There is always a way to win, even when you think you've lost all hope."

"That was profound, Charles."

Charles grimaced.

"What I meant was that you were winning this game. You _should_ have won this game. But you didn't."

"And?"

"By all rights, the humans _should_win this war. They were here first, they're infinitely more powerful than we are, even without special mutations, and there are a bloody ton of them."

"That makes it sound as though this is hopeless."

"Nothing is ever hopeless, my friend. You've taught me that. We will win this war, Erik, but we won't do it by slaughtering innocent people."

_Like __Shaw_ was heavily implied, though never explicitly stated. _Like __you_ was also there, but again, Charles never actually spoke the words.

Erik heard them anyway.

"We've tried being the better men, Charles."

"No, we haven't. You've tried shooting missiles at naval ships and breaking into the CIA while _I_ have tried hiding out and peace talks. Neither approach seems to be working."

"So what do you suggest?"

"A compromise. I will help you take down the government's plan to exterminate the mutants if you promise not to kill anyone."

"Anyone?"

"_Anyone_."

"What if they absolutely deserve it?"

"No one absolutely deserves to die, Erik. Besides, wouldn't that be making them suffer less?"

Erik stared at Charles, confused.

"What?"

"If you killed them, then yes, you would be doing the world a favor, but you would also be doing _them_ a favor. Killing them would instantly end the torture you could inflict on them."

"Are you condoning torture, my friend?"

"No. I'm just surprised _you_ are not."

Erik raised an eyebrow.

"Why should I?"

"Why would you think someone should deserve to be killed?"

Realization dawned on Erik and he looked at Charles in surprise.

"Would you be okay with tying someone up in the basement and torturing them until you thought they had suffered enough? That what they had endured would equal what they had done?"

"No."

"Then why bring it up?"

"Because there are other ways to torturing someone than tying them up in a basement and causing them physical pain."

Charles casually brushed his bandaged hand against him temple before looking away.

Erik was silent for a moment as he realized what Charles was offering him.

"I think I can take your compromise."

"Good Lord, I think I might have just created a monster."

"Charles…"

_I __don__'__t __want __to __lose __you __again_.

Charles looked back at Erik and nodded once.

"I told you I'd help you. So I will."

* * *

><p><em>Pain, <em>_screaming, __agony, __horror, _**pain.**

"Charles!"

_Millions of minds crying out in fear._

Gunshots, followed by more yelling.

_Darkness started taking over the light as millions of minds vanished._

"Get him disconnected from that _thing_!"

_Fear. Pain. _

_Oh god, what had he done?_

"Charles!"

_The pain started to fade._

"Come on, Charles, don't _do_ this!"

_I__'__m __sorry, __my __friend_.

"NO!"

_I am so sorry._

"Erik, let go! He's gone."

_Nothingness._

* * *

><p>They started a new game of chess as Charles poured himself another glass of scotch.<p>

"Just how much have you had to drink tonight, Charles?"

The telepath gestured to a bottle of scotch that was down to its last drops.

"That was full an hour ago."

"You're a functional drunk."

"I'm not sure if I should be proud of that."

"There are worse things you could be."

"Like a drunk, raging, murderous psychopath?"

"Yes. Though I have to tell you, the leaps your mind makes are astoundingly absurd."

"It's part of my power. And at least I rank above drunk, raging, murderous psychopaths."

"I believe that's _my_ position."

"Please. Like _you_ could be a raging _drunk_. I've seen you drunk—you pass out at the drop of a hat. Actually, I believe the last time, you _did_ drop your hat and I had to come in after you."

"I wasn't drunk that day, Charles."

"You were afterward."

"As I recall, so were you."

Charles grimaced.

"It was a bad day."

"Indeed it was."

"I think I might have just put you in checkmate."

"No, Charles. You're white. I'm black. _You_'re in checkmate."

"Damn. I honestly thought I was winning."

* * *

><p>The room looked as though an earthquake had hit it. Broken glass and scraps of metal littered the floor, along with chunks of ceiling and cinderblock from where the walls had been blown apart.<p>

Unconscious men littered the floor, some underneath the debris that had piled up. A ginger haired man was among them, his black jumpsuit white from the dust.

Two men stood in the middle of the room, one tall, thin and imposing, the other, slightly shorter with a dust-covered military suit. The former as carrying the gun.

"You'll never get away with this. The government _will_ kill you."

"I don't care."

A shiver went down the military man's spine at the truthfulness of the other's words.

A small gasp of pain broke the silence of the room. The man with the gun turned toward it, his eyes widening slightly as his gaze rested on the fallen form of a man with shaggy brown hair. His eyes were closed and blood was seeping steadily from his nose.

It was the advantage the military man needed. He pulled his fist back and slammed it into the other man's face, breaking the soft cartilage of his nose.

The tall man dropped the gun with a grunt of surprise. The military man picked it up and aimed it at the first.

"Surrender now."

The man with the broken nose laughed. It was a bitter, hateful sound that had no joy in it whatsoever.

"You don't know what I can do."

The military man's hand quivered slightly. The man with the broken nose grinned, a sadistic expression filled with blood, malice, and hatred.

"Shooting me won't do anything."

The military man's hand shook even more.

"Drop the gun, Stryker."

He didn't. Instead, he aimed it at the unconscious man with the shaggy brown hair.

"_No!_"

"You will surrender, Mr. Lensherr, or I will kill your telepath friend."

"I'll deflect the bullet."

"If I recall, the _last_ time you did that, you wound up breaking his spine. You wouldn't want to do that again. Not when he's barely alive as it is. Though you might be doing him a favor. Who knows how many mutants he killed before you turned the machine off? How will he _ever_ be able to live with himself after that?"

Erik's hands clenched into fists as he tried to get a handle on his powers. Hatred and rage welled up inside him and it took all that he had inside of him to not turn the gun on Stryker and kill him. He had promised Charles that he would never kill anyone again. No matter how much they deserved it.

The metal in the room throbbed with the anger. The gun shook in Stryker's hands.

"I _will_ shoot him, Erik."

"My name is _Magneto_."

The gun fired.


	18. Pressure

_Okay. So. This begins the section where I start presumably tying everything up because twenty chapters seems like a relatively nice number for a story, right?_

_...Right. I'l llet you keep thinking that._

_And for some reason, FanFiction hates italics now and so some of my words/sentences get deleted because FanFiction, in all of its infinite wisdom, deletes words/sentences if they're smashed together, even if it's their fault that it's smashed together. So, if that happens anywhere in here, I'm sorry. I know it happened in the last chapter... _

**The Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 18: Pressure**

Their little slice of heaven couldn't last forever. The ominous threat of the war between the mutants and humans which they had inadvertently started loomed over them, threatening to break out at any second. As much as Erik and Charles both longed to just hide out in the mansion for the rest of their lives, drinking scotch, playing chess, and philosophizing over the morality of the world, they knew that it was inevitable that the world would come crashing down around them sooner or later.

When it did, they just wished it all hadn't happened so suddenly.

Stryker sank to the floor with a cry of pain as blood poured out of his now shattered leg.

Charles had never said anything about kneecaps.

Erik ignored the fallen military man as he walked hesitantly over to Charles. Outside of the small cry of pain, he hadn't made a sound.

Erik crouched amongst the broken glass and reached out a gentle hand to touch Charles' shoulder. There was no response.

"Charles?"

There was a low grunt of pain behind him. Erik turned, reaching out with his powers for the gun as Stryker pushed himself into a crouching position.

"You have the whole power of the world in your hands."

The words sent shivers down Erik's spine as he aimed the gun once more at Stryker. Promise to Charles aside, Erik _would_ kill Stryker if he tried to harm Charles.

"Take one more step and I will fire."

Stryker laughed, a cold and bitter sound that cut off as soon as he attempted to take a step.

"You have the power to eradicate us, you know. The humans you hate so much."

"What are you talking about?"

"The telepath you're so fond off. Do you know what he's capable of?"

All too well.

Erik stayed silent.

Stryker shook his head.

"Unbelievable. I can't believe that you, Erik, of all people wouldn't want to take advantage of this."

"Advantage of what?"

"Xavier can erase every single human and mutant from this world with just a single thought of his mind when he's connected to Cerebro. With just the right word right now, _you_ can get him to do what you've always dreamed of."

Erik looked in astonishment from Stryker to Charles and finally, the machine the telepath was attached to.

He had known Charles was powerful, but powerful enough to kill everyone? Even with the amplified powers of Cerebro, that was impossible.

Or was it?

Erik's hands were shaking as he slowly stood back up to face Stryker. Everything he ever hated in humans was exemplified by this one man. Their arrogance, their cruelty, their _ignorance_, and their instant hatred to anything and everything that didn't conform to their society.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"You would figure it out soon enough anyway."

The walls shook violently once more as Erik looked back to Charles.

He wouldn't use Charles like that. It would kill the telepath if he ever recovered to know what he had done. It wouldn't matter if it had been Erik's idea or Stryker's machine—Charles would blame himself. He wouldn't even hate Erik for making the suggestion in the first place.

Which was why Erik couldn't do it. He wouldn't do it, not to Charles.

"Do it, Erik. Show me the hatred and cruelty I know you're capable of."

"No."

A metal pole came out of nowhere and slammed into Stryker's head, sending the man collapsing to the ground in darkness.

* * *

><p>The smell of cooking eggs and burning toast woke Charles that morning. He groaned, rolling over and burying his face into his pillow as he head throbbed angrily.<p>

He hated hangovers.

Belatedly, he realized that he should probably investigate the source of the burning toast, if only to yell at Hank or Sean for waking him up at five-thirty in the morning.

It was five-thirty in the morning.

That thought took longer that it should have to register in Charles' mind.

What the bloody hell was someone doing cooking at _five-thirty_in the morning?

He let out a growl as he rolled back over and searched for his robe. A twinge of pain in his lower back stopped him cold.

_Damn__it_.

The twinge disappeared as quickly as it happened, but it was enough to peak Charles' alarm. Since Hank had perfected the cure, the old bullet wound hadn't caused Charles any pain at all.

This morning was going to be the morning from hell.

Charles could just feel it.

* * *

><p>There was motion behind Erik. He turned, using his powers to handle the gun, and breathed a sigh of relief as it turned out to be Raven and Hank, both looking extremely dazed and confused.<p>

He turned back to the telepath. Charles was still unconscious. He still had the Cerebro helmet on his head.

"Get him disconnected from that _thing_."

Hank quickly did as Erik ordered, unplugging the wires quickly. Erik gently pulled the helmet off, shocked to find blood staining the underside of it.

He looked for the source, horrified to find blood seeping out of Charles' ears and nose.

Raven let out a gasp.

"Charles!"

Fear colored her voice as she quickly, but carefully picked her way around the glass and debris to crouch beside Erik. She took hold of Charles' hand. A single tear ran down her face.

Hank came back over, his yellow eyes grave. Blood seeped from a cut across his face and on his back.

"He's dying."

The words were barely audible. Hank didn't want to believe it anymore than the rest of them did.

Erik glared at him.

"Don't say that."

"Erik…"

Raven's whispered admonishment trailed off as Charles started seizing.

Erik swore as he quickly, yet gently laid Charles out on the floor.

"Come on, Charles, don't _do _this!"

The telepath shuddered violently one last time before going completely still. His chest wasn't moving.

"NO!"

Erik's roar vibrated through the metal of the room, causing the entire building to shake violently.

"Erik, let go! He's _gone_."

Raven's broken cry barely registered.

She was wrong.

She had to be.

Charles was _not _dead.


	19. Evasion

_This one is super short and for that, I'm kinda sorry. But not really. There really was no other way to cut this._

_Also, for the record, Charles is **not** dead. Don't worry. :) Though it made me smile how outraged you all got._

_I'm going to be updating on Fridays only after this update. _

**The Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 19: Evasion**

Charles stumbled down the stairs, relying entirely too much on the wall for balance. He made it into the kitchen, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, when the sight in front of him stopped him cold.

Erik was standing at the stove, flipping the eggs and _whistling_ of all things. Buttered and burnt toast sat on a plate in the middle of the table.

"It's five-thirty in the morning."

They were the first words Charles could think of that weren't _who __the __hell __are __you __and __what __have __you __done __with __the __real __Erik?_

Had he not known that it was physically impossible for Raven to wake up before ten o'clock and she was currently on crutches and entirely unable to shift form at the moment, Charles would have assumed she was playing a joke.

"I am well aware of the time, Charles."

"Why—_what _are you doing?"

"Making breakfast."

Erik's calm, sarcastic voice did nothing to answer the question as to why he was making breakfast.

Charles decided that if the man wanted to make breakfast at five-thirty in the morning, then Erik was more than entitled without confused telepaths demanding to know why.

Charles slumped into one of the chairs and snagged a piece of toast that wasn't completely burnt.

"You're up early."

He didn't have to demand answers, but he could find more tactful ways of figuring out what was bothering his friend.

"I never went to sleep."

"That's healthy."

Erik glanced away from the stove for a moment to raise a pointed eyebrow at Charles.

"And what you've done is the picture of healthy actions."

Charles sighed. He honestly should have seen this coming the second he had made the decision to help Erik out by taking away his pain and then passing out for three days.

"What's done is done, my friend. I'm sorry if I offended you. Believe me, it wasn't as though I didn't think you could handle the pain."

"That's not what I'm talking about, Charles."

Charles rubbed his head.

"Forgive me, but I am trying _not_ to use my powers until Hank gives me the all clear. So would you mind telling me what exactly you _are_ talking about?"

Erik let out an exasperated growl and turned back to the stove. He stabbed at the eggs with more force than was strictly necessary.

Charles couldn't even begin to understand what put Erik in such a mood so early in the morning.

"For a telepath, you are so utterly _horrible_ at reading people, my friend."

Charles resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Are you going to tell me what's bothering you or am I going to have to read your mind after all?"

"Stay out of my head."

Charles raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"What's going on, Erik?"

The man had been fine the night before, if not a little overly surprised about Charles' change in attitude.

"Nothing."

The eggs turning into squashed mush spoke differently.

Setting down his piece of toast, Charles stood up, forcing down the urge to wince as pain flared in his lower back once more. He walked over to Erik and gently pulled the spatula away from him.

"What's going on?"

Erik sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair.

"Hank told me everything."

Charles closed his eyes and leaned against the counter. It was way too early in the morning to deal with this.

"Of course he did."

"You should have told me."

"You never asked."

"Yes I did. You evaded the questions."

"What do you want to know?"

"Why you hid those things from me."

"Why?"

"You're the one always pushing friendship and love."

"You're the one always running as fast as you can in the other direction."

"I came back, didn't I?"

"Why did you, anyway?"

"You know why, Charles. Now, stop avoiding the question."

Charles turned away.

"I need something stronger than orange juice if we're going to have this conversation."

"It's five-thirty in the morning."

"So?"

* * *

><p>A siren was blaring in the distance, though it barely registered in Hank's ears as he picked his way amongst the broken glass and rubble, following Raven and Erik out of the remains of the CIA base.<p>

Erik was carrying Charles, who was hanging on to life by a thread. They had found a pulse—so weak it could barely be felt—but it had given them hope that maybe Charles would live after all.

Though, Hank knew that surviving the physical wounds would only be half the battle. He wasn't sure what Stryker had done to the machine during Hank's absence, but something had gone drastically wrong when Charles had used it earlier.

And then there was Stryker's comment about it being the end of the mutant race.

"_Bravo __to __Stryker. __Reinforcements __are __on __their __way. __Repeat, __Bravo __to __Stryker. __Reinforcements __are __on __their __way.__"_

They had made it into the long, dark hallway which led to freedom. The words came from a radio that was thrown haphazardly into the corner as one of the guards had tried to run.

Hank looked at Erik, who glared at the radio as though it had caused him physical pain.

"Mystique."

Raven looked at Erik. It was hard to tell if the surprise on her face was from Erik's coarse voice or if it was from the words on the radio.

Seconds later, she had shifted into Stryker. Hank could barely contain the quiver of rage that tore through him at the sight of the man who had almost succeeded in killing Charles.

From the look on Erik's face, he wasn't too happy with Raven's form either.

Raven picked up the radio.

"Stryker to Bravo."

Hank curled his hands into fists and looked for something he could focus on other than Raven.

Movement caught his eye seconds before Moira McTaggert appeared. She was holding a gun in shaking hands, aimed at Charles.


	20. Satellites

_Okay, so this is the chapter where I gradually start to plant the seeds of new plots… because 20 chapters later, it's time for a plot twist. Enjoy! …And this one doesn't end on nearly as big of a cliffhanger as the past few did. _

**The Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 20: Satellites **

Charles had disappeared out of the kitchen in search of clean clothes and scotch over an hour ago. Erik had already searched everywhere he could think of, short of waking up Raven and demanding to know where her brother might be.

Frustrated that Charles had once more successfully evaded a conversation about how _idiotic_ he was, Erik stormed outside, intent on finding something metal that he could take his frustrations out on.

He stopped dead when he caught sight of someone sitting on top of the satellite dish.

_You __can __join __me, __if __you __want_.

Charles sounded amused. That might have been a good sign, had it not been for the overwhelming feeling of _pain_ Erik got coming through their link.

Erik stood at the bottom of the satellite dish, staring at the ladder that would take him up to the top. His broken arm ached as a reminder that climbing ladders would _not_ be in his best interest.

How the hell was he supposed to get up to the top?

An image of a submarine and his floating through the air on a magnetic field came unbidden to the forefront of his mind.

_You think of everything, don't you, Charles?_

There was a faint hint of sad laughter that held no humor.

Erik didn't blame the telepath.

_I thought you weren't supposed to be using your powers._

_Yes. Well. What Hank doesn't know won't hurt him._

_Don't you think hiding things from Hank might be detrimental to your health? _

There was no response.

Erik took a deep breath and called on his abilities to create himself a magnetic field.

He floated to the top of the satellite dish, remembering the last time he had been up here.

"I don't think Sean has quite forgiven you for that."

Charles was sitting with his back against the railing and his legs stretched out in front of him. His eyes were half open and he looked like he was fighting a monster headache.

"I am."

"Would you stop doing that?"

Charles closed his eyes.

"I'm sorry, my friend. My control is practically nonexistent right now."

Erik sat down so that he was facing Charles and said nothing.

Off in the distance, the sun began to rise.

Charles opened his eyes again and sighed heavily. He folded his arms against his chest and studied Erik intently. The metal-wielder shifted uncomfortably underneath the weight of the telepath's steady gaze.

"I owe you an apology, my friend."

Erik raised an eyebrow. Out of all the things he had been expecting Charles to say, that was not one of them.

"For what?"

"For not being entirely honest with you. With any of you, really."

Charles shifted his eyes to the rising sun and uncrossed his arms. He started fiddling with a stray twig on the ground.

"What is it, Charles?"

The telepath was quiet, which only served to annoy Erik even more.

"You've asked us to trust you, Charles. You've asked _me_ to trust you. And we do. I do. But you're going to have to decide if you want to trust us."

"I do."

The answer was a little too quick, a little too defensive for it to be entirely true. Erik gave Charles a pointed look, which caused the telepath to close his eyes and sigh again.

"I honestly _do_ trust you. All of you. It's me I don't trust."

* * *

><p>Erik froze mid-sentence as he caught sight of Moira and the gun.<p>

"I'm so sorry."

Fear and horror twisted her apology. Tears were streaming down her face. Erik looked to Hank, who was staring at the CIA agent with a mixed expression of hatred and confusion.

"Beast?"

Hank blinked, not taking his eyes off the gun.

"She shot Charles."

Shock crashed over Erik in, sharp, hate filled waves. The gun in Moira's hand slowly began to turn.

"Wait."

Charles' soft whisper surprised Erik more than anything else did that evening. He looked down, stunned to find agonized blue eyes staring back at him.

"Charles?"

"It's okay. She's not going to shoot me."

Erik could barely make out what the telepath was saying.

He raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

"She already _has_."

Charles glanced at Moira before looking back at Erik.

"She remembers. Everything."

* * *

><p>Charles shifted his weight, trying to get more comfortable on top of the satellite dish. He distantly realized this was probably a bad idea as his back throbbed.<p>

"You don't trust yourself."

Erik's irritation was understandable, but Charles didn't want to deal with it. Not today.

"If you had the power that I did, you wouldn't trust yourself either."

_You'll have a power no one can match. Not even me._

The words hung between them. Charles predicted Erik's question moments before it formed in the metal wielder's mind.

"Were those words a lie?"

"No. Telepathy and metal wielding are two vastly different powers. I assure you, my friend, yours is still infinitely more powerful than mine."

Erik raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

"And why is that?"

Charles looked away, deciding that was one question he would rather not answer. He didn't want to drive Erik away again, not so soon after they had rekindled their friendship. Especially not when the answer lay in the reason why they had been forced to end their friendship.

What was this between them, exactly? _Was_ it friendship? It didn't feel like it, not at the moment. It felt as though they were once more beginning their dangerous dance around each other that they had started in Cuba.

"Charles."

Erik moved from skeptical irritation to flat out aggravation so quickly it gave Charles mental whiplash.

"You do not want the answer to your question. Trust me, my friend."

"How can I when you refuse to trust _me_?"

"I already told you, I _do_ trust you, Erik."

"I hardly doubt that. If you can't trust yourself, then how in the world can you trust others?"

It took the telepath a minute to realize that for once, he didn't have an answer.

"I don't know."

Erik sighed heavily, running his uninjured hand through his hair. It was only then that Charles remembered that his friend wasn't as all right as he wanted everyone to believe. That the man had been tortured for God knew how long and hadn't slept since he regained consciousness.

"I'm sorry, Erik."

"Don't be."

Charles hated the fact that the metal wielder meant it. It was vastly unfair to him, that Charles knew so much about him, and yet Erik knew absolutely nothing about Charles. Or at least, nothing that truly mattered in the grand scheme of things.

"I was ten when we moved to America."

Erik looked back at Charles, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

"What?"

"My father was killed in the war and my mother wanted to get away from England. This mansion has been in my family for decades, so my mother moved us here."

Erik still looked highly puzzled. Charles pressed on.

"We had been here for a couple of weeks when Raven joined the family. It was a few months after that when my mother got remarried to a man named Kurt Markos.

"Kurt had a son named Cain, who was a year or two older than I was. At first, I thought it'd be great. We could be one big happy family. Me, Raven, and Cain…"

Charles trailed off, looking away from Erik. He really didn't want to see his friend's reaction to the next part of the story.

"What happened, Charles?"

Charles closed his eyes.


	21. The Truth and Lies of Charles Xavier

_For those of you who think you know everything about the comic verse… that's great. I know absolutely nothing, and like most authors, I tend to make up my own stuff. So… if there's any parallels to this story and the comic verse, it's completely coincidental. _

_Also, there is the beginnings of foreshadowing in here. Like, the faintest hints of a whisper of a foreshadow… _

_And one more thing: I'm soon going to be starting a new X-Men First Class story that has absolutely nothing to do with this fic that I'm super excited about (picture Charles in a skin tight black t-shirt with serious muscles and sweatpants...). I'll give you more details about it later. And look for a Christmas-y X-Men fic on Sunday... That one will be set in this verse. _

_Thank you so much to everyone who has read and reviewed! Your words mean the world to me! _

**The Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 21: The Truth and Lies of Charles Xavier**

It was cold. Colder than he ever remembered being in his life. Colder than that rotten jail cell he had spent God knew how long in and colder than that snowstorm he and Erik had gotten caught in so many months ago. It was _freezing_.

Charles had to clench his teeth together to keep them from chattering. A shudder ripped through him as Moira and Erik had a stare down. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he realized that he should do _something_ to convince them that neither were to blame for this incident.

Charles shuddered again, closing his eyes and fighting against the urge to whimper as pain coursed through him. He was entirely unsuccessful.

"Charles?"

There was that bloody concern in Erik's voice again.

Charles forced his eyes open again. Moira and Erik were both staring at him with horror and concern. The gun had been dropped to the ground, a fact Charles was more than grateful for.

He hated guns.

"Wh—whe—_Charles_?"

Moira took a few hesitant steps forward, guilt pouring off her in waves.

Erik let out something akin to a growl, freezing the CIA agent in her tracks.

Charles struggled to diffuse the situation before Erik did something tremendously stupid.

"It's okay."

It took much more effort than it should have to get those two words out.

"She almost killed you, Professor!"

Hank's shocked voice reached Charles' ears in a disjointed mixture of sound and emotion. Charles more felt his indignation than heard his exclamation.

Moira's guilt and fear over what she had done and what was going to happen now were overwhelming as she sank to her knees, holding out a hand to him.

"I am so sorry."

Charles took as deep a breath as he could without passing out.

"It's okay."

That seemed to be the only thing he could say.

Erik decided it was his turn to weigh in on the conversation.

"No, it's _not_."

Charles could barely string two words together to make a coherent thought, let alone explain to an irate Erik _why_ he had forgiven Moira.

"_Please_, Erik."

The dropped gun floated into the air.

This was starting to feel scarily familiar.

* * *

><p><em>Identification. That's how it starts. And ends with being rounded up, experimented on, and eliminated. <em>

If only Erik realized how true his words had been, how much they applied to Charles' own life.

Things _had_ been fine with the Markos' family, right up until Charles accidentally revealed he was a telepath.

Everything went rather downhill from there.

Kurt had been a scientist. While he had been specifically a nuclear scientist, that didn't mean his curiosity for all things science related was killed. So when his step-son of his very rich wife accidentally wound up spilling secrets that he couldn't possibly know about, Kurt couldn't resist finding out how he knew.

Charles had no control over his abilities when he was younger. None of them did, except for Raven, and even then, her control was limited by her emotions. So, it was highly understandable how a child telepath, not much older than a decade, could intrude on Kurt's thoughts.

Kurt had plans to kill Charles' mother, send Charles and Raven to separate boarding schools, and steal the money left by the original Doctor Xavier.

Charles admitted to his mother Kurt's plans, and while she had never seemed to outwardly acknowledge that she believed Charles, it got back to him some weeks later that she had talked to Kurt about it.

She had filed for divorce.

Kurt blamed Charles, for Charles was the only one who Mrs. Xavier-Markos ever truly listened to.

"It was a horrible next few years."

Charles swallowed again, still refusing to look at Erik. While Raven knew the majority of what happened, he had never truly told anyone what _really_ happened.

"Charles…"

There was hesitation in Erik's voice, where the metal bender was waning in his desire to know Charles' past.

Charles was too immersed into his story to acknowledge it.

* * *

><p>The pulse beneath Hank's fingers was steadily fading. If they didn't get Charles out of there soon, he <em>would<em> die.

But getting out of the destroyed CIA base didn't seem like an option at the moment. Erik and Moira were having an intense stare down, with Charles caught in the middle.

Why did this feel so goddamn familiar?

Raven shifted back to her usual form, the radio call forgotten in the midst of the newest threat. Back up CIA agents they could deal with.

"You _shot_ him. Again."

Charles made a noise that was somewhere between a whimper of pain and an indignant snort at Erik's poisonous words.

Moira, on the other hand, looked as though she were moments away from passing out. Hank really wished that she would so this whole situation would be over with and they could get on with saving the Professor.

"I'm sorry. I am so sorry."

Were those the only words she knew?

_Be nice_.

Charles' telepathic admonishment, as faint and as pain-filled as it was, shocked Hank. He didn't think the Professor had it in him to project like that.

"You don't get to be sorry. It's because of you that Charles is here in the first place."

"_Erik_."

The whisper could barley be heard over the static of the radio or the heavy breathing from everyone in the room, but there was enough _pain_, _sadness_, and edged with just the right amount of telepathic persuasion, that Erik's shoulders visibly slumped and Moira looked a little less teary eyed.

Had the situation not been quite so drastic, it perhaps might have been funny.

It reminded Hank once more how much they had all come to rely on Charles. How much they needed him.

"Hank, go find Sean. Raven, answer that radio call before the CIA gets the bright idea to send more reinforcements. Moi—Agent McTaggert, if there's anything you can do to stay out of my way, do it. Otherwise, keep a look out for anyone that might be willing to do us harm."

Moira nodded once as Hank felt an overpowering sensation of _guilt_ as he realized they had left Sean behind. He was turning around and breaking into a run before it hit him that Erik's voice sounded distinctly more British than before.

Erik was going to be _pissed_ when Charles finally released him.

* * *

><p>It was as though saying the mere name <em>Kurt Markos<em> was the breaking point. Everything that Charles had ever experienced at the hands of that mad man came spilling out of him in hot, pain-filled waves.

Erik could only sit there and listen with wide eyes as the carefully constructed illusion he had about the telepath came crashing down around him.

It was frightening, to realize just how similar their childhoods were. The dark things Charles had always eluded to, but never explicitly stated came pouring out—the experiments, the tests, the sleepless nights, the abuse—_all of it_.

It was horrific, it was scarily familiar, and worst of all, it was _true_.

Charles showed him the scar from one unpleasant experience where Kurt had grown sick of listening to Charles' constant litany of _I can't move things with my mind_ and thrown a priceless vase at the then fifteen year old Charles' head, giving him a concussion, sixteen stitches, and two days in the hospital.

Charles' situation was almost worse than Erik's. He had had Raven throughout it all, unlike Erik, who had been completely alone, but he hadn't been able to confide in her. Or anyone else, for that matter.

Kurt had made certain of that.

_"If you tell anyone—and I mean _anyone_ what I have done to you, then I will kill whoever you tell and make sure they know it's your fault that they died."_

Charles had told his mother.

Three days after the fact, his mother had been involved in a serious car accident, where she fell into a coma at the hospital.

She didn't make it.

Charles had been sixteen at the time.

"Charles…"

Erik longed to say something, _anything_, but what could he say?

Charles looked at him with tortured blue eyes. Even years after the fact, he was still haunted by the ghosts of the past.

"That's not the worst of it."

Erik swallowed heavily.

What could be worse than this?

"Kurt is dead. Cain—I—Both Markos' are dead."

That should have been good news. They couldn't hurt Charles anymore if they were dead.

The look on Charles' face spoke differently.

"What happened?"

Charles looked away. When he spoke, it was barely audible.

"I killed them."


	22. Shocked

_Warning: I'm extremely talkative tonight. Skip over the italics if you are not interested in reading my blathering on._

_I hope you all had a wonderful holiday and are looking forward to the New Year! Hopefully, it's as awesome as you want it to be. I know it will be for me—I got accepted into the college of my dreams, so I'm super excited about that. : ). _

_Sorry that this is later than normal! I got an iPad for Christmas and have been completely hooked on using it… so much, that I neglected my own laptop, which has been having faulty charger issues. I took care of it (who knew that unplugging the thing and replugging it into the same outlet cures everything?) and realized that it was almost the end of Friday… and I still had yet to update. Again, I'm sorry! _

_As for the Christmas story that didn't happen… erm, I blame it all on my parents. Yes. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. They decided that me being a complete and total antisocial bookworm that loved to write wasn't acceptable for Christmas and thus didn't let me write anything. Apologies abound for those who were really looking forward to that (cough, ohfercryingoutloud, cough). However, the badass Charles in a black t-shirt thing is still on. More information coming in my profile so I don't endlessly annoy you guys with it. _

_And last, but not least, to _**Random Under the Sun**—_I'm too lazy to go find your penname on FanFiction, so I'm publicly thanking you for your review. Kudos to figuring out the foreshadowing (that's going to come into play here very, very shortly). I'm glad you're enjoying the story._

_On with the show! _

**The Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 22: Shocked**

Raven led the way out of the CIA complex, still wearing Stryker's form. Erik followed, carrying a barely conscious Charles. Hank followed, supporting Sean, who had been knocked hard in the head. He was bleeding from his temple, but was alert enough to be able to walk with help. Moira brought up the rear, still shaking violently from her memory overload.

Their hope was that if anyone _did_ send reinforcements despite Raven's orders not to, they would look enough like guards escorting the mutants to a more secure base that they would go unnoticed.

Somehow, Hank doubted anyone would contradict Raven's orders. Stryker was too imposing of a figure to even consider disobeying. Hank knew that from experience.

Erik seemed lost in thought, barely saying two words to anyone, though Hank wasn't fooled. While he was strongly against Charles' use of telepathy at the moment, he was glad that someone was keeping Erik's darker tendencies at bay.

"Stop."

Moira's shaking voice brought their slow moving procession to a halt. Everyone turned to look at her, Erik with thinly veiled contempt in his eyes, and Raven, with confusion and fear. Sean merely looked glazed and Charles' eyes weren't open any more.

Hank didn't think that was a good sign.

"What?"

Hank hated it when he had to be the voice of reason amongst people vastly older than himself. But somehow, he didn't think that Raven or Erik were going to be polite to Moira any time soon.

"Where's Stryker?"

Erik's face shifted into an indifferent mask that usually foretold coins being driven through skulls or missiles being launched at innocent men.

"Taken care of."

Moira adapted a look that made Hank realize this woman truly belonged at the CIA. At least, she had, before it had been corrupted by law breaking terrorists intent on rounding up and murdering mutants.

"I wasn't asking because I want to save his life."

"Is now really the time for this?"

Raven came back to herself long enough to be her true self—haughty and terrified for her brother.

Moira ignored her.

"Is he dead?"

Even Erik looked taken aback by the question. He gave glance to the unconscious Charles in his arms and shook his head.

"No."

It sounded as though it physically hurt him to say that one word.

Moira nodded once.

"Don't wait for me."

Before anyone could ask what she meant, she disappeared back the way they came.

"Why are we still standing here?"

Sean's words were slurred so bad that Hank, even after years of practice with dealing with stoned Sean, could barely make out what he said.

Erik looked at the hallway Moira had vanished down, and for once, he didn't look as though he was on the verge of killing everyone in sight.

"She said to leave her here."

He sounded as though he was having an argument with himself, though Hank knew better. He was trying to justify to Charles—and to everyone else—that what they were about to do was the right thing.

Hank doubted the metal wielder realized that none of them—with the exception of maybe Charles, though he didn't count at the moment—were keen on waiting for Moira.

She had betrayed them. Even if she remembered everything, the fact was, she had still shot Charles and had caused him to be put through this hell.

That was completely unforgivable. Even by Hank's standards. And he forgave a lot of things, including Erik.

"Let's go."

Raven sounded as though she was as torn as Erik was about leaving Moira behind.

"Come on."

Hank really hated it when everyone needed him to be the leader. But he would, if that's what it took to save Charles.

* * *

><p>Silence met Charles' admission. The telepath could honestly say that he wasn't surprised—what was Erik supposed to say?<p>

"You asked me why I didn't trust myself. This is why."

It had been raining. Charles remembered that much. That, and Raven had been away at boarding school, at Charles' insistence. She had been reluctant to go, especially after the incident with the vase, where Charles had lost control of his telepathy and accidently showed her all that had happened.

Charles had refused to even entertain the mere thought of something bad happening to Raven, had Kurt ever found out that Raven knew the truth. Or, parts of the truth.

"You don't have to tell me, Charles."

Charles closed his eyes. It would be too easy to stop. Too easy to just shove everything to the back of his mind, where it had sat for the past decade since its occurrence.

It wouldn't be fair to Erik. He deserved to know why Charles' abilities frightened the telepath so much. Why Charles held fast to the idea of peace for all.

It was penance for what he had done.

"I had gotten home late from a track meet. Kurt was angry. Cain was harboring resentment toward me, something he had been doing a lot, ever since his father started spending more time with me. I could hardly blame him for his assumptions—I was the golden child, with the good grades and an air of confidence I didn't feel."

Charles felt Erik's faint twinge of amusement. He allowed himself a faint smile before pressing on.

"Cain was never handsome, nor was he ugly. He was rather like Hank, before he… changed. He wasn't popular, nor was he athletic or a brain. Before Kurt married my mother, he was all Cain had."

"He resented you for being imprisoned by his father?"

Charles opened his eyes to throw Erik a sharp look. Erik raised an eyebrow.

"It doesn't make sense."

"And driving a coin through somebody's skull _does_?"

Charles regretted his harsh words the instant they left his mouth, but the damage had already been done. Erik fell silent with a glare.

"Erik…"

"Forget it, Charles. It's over and done with."

Charles sighed heavily.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"_Forget it_."

They both sat there in a stony silence, glaring at each other. Charles looked away first, unwilling to pursue the matter. That, and Erik _was_ right—Charles had never understood Cain's obsession for Kurt. The man had been cold, cruel, and callous toward Cain for the entire time Charles had known them.

"It was pouring down rain and close to eleven thirty at night."

"You were quite the party animal."

It was a sad attempt at humor, as well as Erik's peace offering.

"We had won our track meet and went out celebrating. I will admit to drinking more than my fair share of booze that evening, which, in hindsight, probably was the reason why I lost control."

Erik swallowed noticeably and his face twisted. Charles continued, speaking faster and softer.

"Kurt met me at the door and demanded to know where I had been."

It had went downhill fast after that. Charles had responded with some smartass teenager remark, Kurt had gone on the defensive, Cain had tried to get in between them, and one thing led to another. Before Charles was aware of what he was doing, he was telling them to stop. Just stop.

And they did. They had frozen completely. Their bodies, their hearts, their brain function… all of it.

By the time Charles was sober enough to realize what he had done, they were already dead.

Three weeks later, he graduated from high school and ran away to England.

He kept running until the events with Shaw forced him back here.

* * *

><p>The American government really needed to upgrade their military trucks to something more secure, especially if the mutants were going to keep hijacking them and using them to make their grand escape in.<p>

Raven drove, with Hank riding shotgun. Sean lay sprawled across one uncomfortable bench in the bed of the truck, trying his hardest to stay awake with his obvious concussion, while Erik sat on the wooden floor using the other bench as a headrest. Charles was unconscious beside the metal wielder on the floor, where Erik had decided would be safer than the bench.

"What do you think happened? With Charles, I mean, and Cerebro."

Raven's soft voice barely carried over the roar of the truck's engine, but Erik heard her anyway. He focused his attention away from Charles for the moment, wanting to hear the answer.

Hank was quiet for a minute.

"I don't know what Stryker did to the machine when I wasn't there. But from what I could tell, he amplified the powers somehow, to make it extremely dangerous."

"How dangerous?"

"Dangerous enough to kill hundreds of mutants if Charles focused his power on so much as one of us."

Raven's gasp was covered up by Sean's own jumbled swear. Erik cast him a swift glance to make sure he was still alive before looking down at Charles.

Who knew that someone so _young_ and so _innocent_ looking could have the power to kill hundreds, if not thousands of people?

"Do you think he succeeded?"

"No."

Erik blinked in surprise, looking once more to the cab of the truck.

"Why not?"

Hank was quiet again.

"Because if he _was_, then I don't think we'd be here."

While Erik wasn't going to verbally disagree with Hank, not in front of Raven and Sean, and definitely not when their hope was so low in the first place, he didn't believe that Hank was right. The mental screaming he had heard coming from Charles' telepathic link were proof enough to that.

But Hank didn't have the constant insight into Charles' mind that Erik did. Nor did Raven, who merely raised an eyebrow at Hank as if she disagreed.

Erik wondered when Charles decided that he and he alone was worth the telepath's trust.

* * *

><p>A lone tear escaped Charles' eyes as Erik struggled to figure out what he could say to that admission.<p>

"Does Raven know?"

Raven. Suddenly everything that she had said their first day at the mansion made perfect sense.

_A hardship softened by me._

_This mansion isn't as nice as it seems._

_There are some rooms you can't go in. Just don't._

_Charles' life isn't what you think it is, Erik._

"She knows some of it. Not all of it. Not what happened after… not what happened to them. She thinks they just up and left. I was never inclined to tell her differently."

"I think she knows more than you think."

"She probably does. Raven has never been an idiot. Sometimes, I think she's smarter than I am."

Erik almost smiled.

"She probably is."

Charles let out a snort of sorrowful laughter.

"Thanks for that, my friend."

"Any time."

* * *

><p>They were almost to a safe house when trouble hit. Without Charles' telepathy skills, Raven, Sean, Hank, and Erik never knew about the fifteen guards in armored jeeps waiting just outside the compound to pursue the mutants, in the event a rescue took place and Stryker and his team inside the building weren't able to handle them.<p>

Erik swore in nine different languages when he noticed them.

"Mystique, pull over."

They were driving through the middle of a forest. Huge trees—Erik really didn't bother with knowing the names of them—lined the road in an almost impenetrable manner.

"Magneto-."

They were using code names in case someone in the jeeps behind them was listening in on their conversation.

"I don't care how you do it, just pull over!"

He barely got the words out before Charles let out a gasp of pain and his face contorted in pain. Then, his entire body was wracked with frantic seizures.

"Beast?"

Erik couldn't keep the fear out of his voice.

"Damn it. Hold him still. He's going into shock. We need to warm him up."

Gunfire erupted behind them. Erik mindlessly deflected the bullets as he struggled to keep Charles still. It was proving to be more difficult than it should have been—despite Charles' weakened state, Erik still had to contend with the constant swerving of the truck throwing him off balance.

"Mystique, straighten the damn truck!"

_Hank, level the bloody plane!_

He forced the thoughts and the images out of his mind, distantly wishing that the floorboard of the truck was metal so he could easily hold Charles still.

Erik's concentration snapped as Charles suddenly went completely still.

A stray bullet collided with one of the tires of the truck.


	23. In the Library

_I apologize that this is so late-I've been without a computer for the past 6 days, so I haven't had the chance to be on FanFiction. I'm working on responding to your wonderful reviews, but if I miss any of you, thank you so much! You all are awesome. _

_I'll still be updating on Friday, provided I have Internet. _

**The Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 23: In The Library**

Erik found Charles in the library an hour later, sitting on the couch with his feet propped up on the coffee table in front of him. Raven was curled up by his side, her injured leg resting on the far end of the couch. She was still in her natural blue form, dressed in a blue robe that was entirely too large for her. Erik distantly recognized it as one of Charles'.

Charles, who had been immersed in a book, glanced up when he sensed Erik's presence in the doorway. He casually followed Erik's glance to Raven's still form. A faint smile played at his lips.

"She wanted me to read to her."

Erik raised an eyebrow, but otherwise said nothing. He didn't know what he _should_ say, if he should say anything at all. What did you say to a man who had just told you his entire life story—and it was almost as bad as yours?

Charles sighed, obviously sensing Erik's thoughts.

"Nothing between us has changed, Erik."

"Everything has changed."

"How?"

"It just does."

Erik couldn't think of a better way to explain himself, but the idea that _Charles_, of all people, had been beaten, experimented on, and _tortured_ was almost too much to bear.

Charles closed his book and moved his feet off the coffee table. Raven, while still deeply asleep, protested it with a soft grunt.

"It only changes things if you want them to."

Erik growled in response. Charles gave him a sharp look.

"I'm not having this discussion with you."

Erik refused to let how much Charles' sudden coldness caught him off guard.

It was his turn to sigh.

"I'm sorry."

It was a woefully inadequate response to all of the hell Charles had been put through when he was a teenager, but it was the only thing that he could get out without demanding to know why Charles didn't tell him sooner. Why he was telling Erik _now_ of all times.

Charles, on the other hand, didn't seem to mind.

"It's all right, my friend."

It killed Erik to know that Charles actually meant it.

Deciding that a subject change would be in their best interest, Erik half-walked, half-stumbled into the library and unceremoniously sank into one of the arm chairs.

"What are you reading?

The book in Charles' hands was _huge_.

Charles glanced at it, as if the object in his hands was a surprise, like he didn't remember picking it up in the first place.

"_The Three Musketeers_. It's one of Raven's favorites."

Erik raised an eyebrow. Charles relented.

"And one of mine."

"I would have never taken you for an adventure kind of person."

Charles huffed a laugh.

"After all of the things we've seen and been through together, you still think I'm not a fan of adventure?"

The beginnings of a smile crossed Erik's face.

"No, not really."

It was too easy, falling back into their easy banter, discussing nothing while the entire world passed them by outside. Even with the obvious signs of recent suffering—the cast on Raven's leg, Charles' and Erik's arm, the bruises that were still dark and painful, and the way none of them were able to be alone for very long—they could still find their own little slice of peace.

Charles fiddled absently with a strand of Raven's hair, looking exhausted, despite the fact that it was barely nine o'clock in the morning.

"It's been a busy morning."

Erik didn't resent the intrusion—it wasn't as though he could get upset at Charles so soon after the man saved his life.

Charles smiled softly.

"I'm glad you see it that way."

Erik made a noise that was halfway between a growl and a sigh.

"Just because I'm getting used to you being a nosy, intrusive telepath, doesn't mean that gives you permission to do it all the time."

Charles shook his head with a faint chuckle.

"And I promise I don't do it all the time. Just most of the time."

Erik shook his head, too tired to argue with Charles.

"Whatever you say, Charles."

They sat in a companionable silence for a while, neither knowing exactly how long it lasted. Charles was the first to break it.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you everything sooner."

"You still haven't told me everything. Hank did."

Charles sighed heavily.

"I was going to tell you about Stryker's idiotic belief that taking telepathic inhibitors would keep me out of his mind when it became an issue."

"And you don't think when you were trying to get me _out_ of the CIA base didn't make it an issue?"

"Quite frankly, no, I did not. We all got out of there alive."

"But you gave Stryker everything he needed to know about us."

"Did I?"

"He knows that you'll stop at nothing to save me and Raven."

"And somehow, I don't think that's a comfort to him."

"And he has probably figured out that I'll do the same."

"While I admire and appreciate how much it cost you to admit to that, I think that will make Stryker sleep even less at night, knowing that if he _does_ try something, you'll be coming after him. He remembers quite vividly what you almost did to the Navy in Cuba. And what I did to Moira. And what we're still doing to them."

Erik flinched at the mention of Cuba and why he didn't succeed in blowing up the Naval ships that day. He managed to swallow his guilt, though.

"We need to find a way to take care of Stryker."

"I won't 'take care' of him if that means killing him."

"I promised you, Charles that I was done killing. I meant it."

"Did you?"

Erik scowled.

"_Yes_."

Charles sighed.

"Okay."

They sat in silence for a little while longer. Charles read a few more pages in his book before Erik once more changed the subject.

"You've been having hallucinations, then?"

Charles shot him a sideways glance, before closing _The Three Musketeers_.

"Yes."

Erik was a bit taken aback by the blunt honesty, but pushed it out of his mind.

"How long?"

"Didn't Hank tell you?"

"Somehow, I don't think Hank knows everything."

Charles lifted his lips in the barest beginnings of a smirk. It faded quickly.

"Since Cuba."

Erik closed his eyes, feeling a surge of guilt.

"Don't blame yourself, Erik."

"How can I not?"

"Sometimes you think too highly of yourself and the influence you have on others. That wasn't exactly the first time I had hallucinations, you know."

Erik opened his eyes and raised an eyebrow at Charles in surprise.

"Really?"

"I had them not long after… when I was first developing my powers."

"What were…"

Erik trailed off, suddenly finding this entire conversation entirely awkward. He had never been one to pry into the lives of others—he hated it when people, especially Charles, did it to him.

Charles sighed heavily for what seemed like the tenth time that morning.

"It doesn't matter. The hallucinations—like last time—are already starting to go away."

The lie gleamed in Charles' eyes, but Erik decided not to push it.

For now.

They sat in silence again, before Charles let out a grunt of pain as he attempted to move. Erik looked at him in alarm.

"What's wrong?"

Charles shook his head, refusing to meet Erik's eye.

"It's nothing. Just a back spasm. Perfectly normal."

Erik doubted it. Nothing about either of them was perfectly normal.

* * *

><p>Erik had the presence of mind to balance and stop the truck before it completely flipped over or hit the trees, but he could do absolutely nothing about the bullet in the tire, nor could he do anything about the battalion of armed men directly behind them.<p>

"Stay in the truck and don't move until I tell you to."

It was Raven who recovered from the near truck accident first. Her voice, while slightly shaky, was firm, and her yellow eyes sparkled dangerously.

She had a plan.

She made for the truck door.

"Wait!"

Hank obviously wasn't keen on letting her go anywhere alone.

Raven paused long enough to send him a look.

"I know what I'm doing. Stay _here_ and look after the Professor."

Her words were followed by an effortless transformation into Stryker.

Erik resisted the urge to smile, an action tempered only by one thing.

He still couldn't find a pulse in Charles' wrist.


	24. A Question of Motives

_Sorry this is late again! I tried updating last night, but I couldn't log onto FanFiction from my iPad for some strange reason... So, I had to wait until I got home and had access to my normal computer before I updated. :/. Stupid technology._

_Don't worry-the next chapter **will** be up next Friday. I'm not going anywhere without my normal computer or Internet... so we'll be good. _

_Thank you for reading and reviewing. If I haven't responded to your reviews, then that doesn't mean I hate you. It means I've been extraordinarily busy lately, but I still love you all! I promise! :) _

**Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 24: A Question of Motives**

Charles winced as he slowly slipped off the couch, his back cracking and aching at the effort. There was a sudden, sharp twist and then everything thankfully stopped hurting.

He was beginning to hate that. It had happened a handful of times this morning, each more painful than the last.

"Charles?"

Raven was still asleep on the couch, while Erik absently pushed some of the metal items around on Charles' desk. Charles had half a mind to stop him—some of those were priceless antiques—but decided it wasn't worth it.

"What, Erik?"

He wasn't exactly thrilled with the fact that Erik knew his darkest secrets now, nor was he happy about Erik insisting on blaming himself for everything that had happened. In fact, Charles couldn't figure out what he was happy with Erik about at the moment.

Erik seemed to falter at Charles' shortness, before regaining his composure.

"You said that you couldn't trust yourself."

Charles stopped short of the door he had been making for.

He raised an eyebrow.

Erik swallowed and pressed on.

"You blame yourself for being out of control one time, so you stopped trusting in you and in your abilities."

"And?"

Charles wished that hadn't come out sounding quite so defensive. For god's sake, he was past this. Kurt, Cuba, all of it. He was _over it_.

_Keep telling yourself that._

Erik sighed.

"I can't force you to trust yourself if you don't think you can. I can't tell you that what happened with Kurt and Cain was an accident because I know you won't believe me. What I can tell you is that you have to learn to let it go. It will consume you if you don't."

_Like it consumed me_.

The thought was so loud that Charles couldn't help but hear it.

"It didn't consume you, Erik. The fact that you're here speaks to that."

"I'm here because of _you_, Charles. Because of everything that you stand for and your stubbornness to make things right. Don't forget that."

_Please. The world needs you, Charles. More than your self-torture or your hallucinations need you. We need you._ I_ need you._

Erik got up and left the room, gently pushing past Charles on his way out.

The library was silent after his exit.

Charles wondered when their roles had reversed, when Erik had started becoming the better man and Charles had started becoming the broken one.

* * *

><p>There was a lot of commotion coming from outside the truck. Raven, as Stryker, seemed to be ordering the armed men to leave, that she had a handle on the situation.<p>

Erik ignored it all as he scrambled to do _something_ to get Charles breathing again.

He was distantly aware of Hank shoving him out of the way and doing something complicated that resulted in a cry of pain from Charles that Erik felt more than heard.

"Hand me the first aid kit!"

There was more yelling, followed by several gunshots. Erik's heart caught in his throat. He half turned to the back of the truck, moments away from going out and making sure that Raven was all right, when a flood of pain crashed into his skull. He couldn't contain a gasp of surprise as the constant stabbing broke off into hundreds of voices, all screaming in pain and surprise.

"Erik! Damn it. Sean, I need your help!"

Hank's growled order was the last thing Erik heard before his mind completely shut down and everything faded to black.

* * *

><p>Charles knocked softly on Hank's door, casting a swift glance over his shoulder to be sure Erik wasn't going to pop out from behind a corner anytime soon. He was fairly certain the German had finally fallen asleep—something Erik had avoided doing since he woke up three days ago—but Charles didn't want to leave anything to chance.<p>

There was a faint, half-snore, half-growl coming from inside the room, followed by a low curse and a thump before the bedroom door swung open.

Hank looked almost comical, with his blue fur sticking up in matted clumps and a half-glazed look in his barely open yellow eyes. His glasses were skewed, barely crammed on his face.

"Professor?"

"Please, Hank, call me Charles. Professor makes me feel old."

"Yes, Prof—Charles."

Charles sighed.

"Are you busy today?"

"I was just going to work on recalibrating Cerebro again. Why?"

Charles gave a one-shouldered shrug.

"Do you feel like taking the Blackbird on another trip?"

Hank's eyes widened, opening properly for the first time that morning.

"Where?"

"I was thinking about Texas."

"What's in Texas?"

"A lot of things. The Alamo. The desert. Other mutants."

Hank's eyes widened even more at this admission, as he tried to figure out how exactly Charles had figured that out without using Cerebro.

Charles had seen it in Erik's head before the catastrophe that had been breakfast that morning. There was a group of mutants, all loyal to Erik's cause, that had been thinking about causing some sort of disaster that would inevitably lead to the CIA and other government agencies trying to round up and kill even more mutants.

He rather wanted to avoid such an event.

Hank's eyes narrowed as he realized where exactly Charles could find that sort of thing out.

"Shouldn't you be taking _him_ with you, then?"

Charles sighed. He had hoped Hank and Sean would be over it by now—it had been a year—but some wounds ran too deep, as Erik so bluntly pointed out earlier.

"_Erik_ is still recovering from his entanglement with the CIA. And neither he nor I could pilot the plane."

Hank had made certain that no one would be able to pilot the plane without his consent. He said it was because he didn't want the government stealing it, but Charles knew Hank well enough to guess that he didn't want any of their kind, such as Erik, stealing it either.

Hank didn't look convinced.

"No offense, but that's a bunch of crap, Charles."

Charles smiled benignly.

"It is what it is, Hank. Now, do you want to come or not?"

* * *

><p>Hank swore as Erik passed out beside Charles, his nose bloody, and his face contorted with pain. While that meant Charles was alive enough to project(<em>barely<em>), it also meant that he was slowly killing Erik and himself.

Hank was starting to hate telepathy.

"Sean!"

The other man looked up, his eyes barely open. He handed Hank the giant red first aid kit, his hands shaking so hard that he almost dropped it.

Hank took it with a concerned look at the red-haired man.

"Stay with me, Sean, okay? I don't need you dying on me either."

"M'fine, Hank."

His slurred words did nothing to reassure Hank, who tore open the first aid kit with a growl and ripped open a package of bandages. He handed one to Sean.

"Hold this under Erik's nose until it stops bleeding, okay?"

Sean blinked, before sluggishly getting it in gear.

There wasn't much Hank could do for either Charles or Erik until they got to safety—wherever that would be. Charles was going to need a hospital. Erik needed—Hank wasn't sure what the metal bender needed, outside of possibly a new brain after this, but he was going to need help too.

And then there was Raven.

The part of Hank that wasn't in a state of panic about both of their leaders collapsing was in a hyper aware state, listening for any sign of Raven that he might gleam from outside. The gunshots had stopped and so had the shouting. His heart skipped a beat as footsteps walked slowly toward the truck.

"Mystique?"

Her name slipped out of his mouth before he could stop himself. Sean sent him what would have been a glare under normal circumstances, but came out looking more like a grimace.

The footsteps grew closer, followed by a familiar sigh.

"I'm all right, Beast. The guards… I convinced them to leave."

There was a tremor in her voice, which usually betrayed her mental state. He might not have been the telepath that her brother was, but Hank could tell that she was feeling guilty, which meant that at least one of the guards had died.

"Are you sure?"

"They won't be coming after us anytime soon."

He didn't doubt her.

There was a brief moment of silence, in which Raven walked to the front of the truck and climbed back in. She wore her natural form now, instead of Stryker's. She glanced back at Hank and her eyes widened in horror as they rested on the now unconscious form of Erik.

"What happened?"

Hank swallowed. He didn't want to explain it—hell, he didn't even know what truly happened—but he knew it was bad and that both of their leaders needed help.

"They'll be okay."

It wasn't an answer and he was sure it wasn't the truth, but it seemed to comfort to Raven. She nodded once.

"Are they safe to move?"

Hank hesitated.

"I don't know."

"We need to get them to the other truck. I don't know how to change a tire."

Hank still hesitated. He didn't know how extensive the damage was that had been inflicted on Charles, nor was he willing to risk moving the telepath or Erik, for that matter, until at least one of them was conscious. However, he knew that if he was going to save them, they needed to be moved.

_Damn it_.

* * *

><p>Hank, among other things over the past year, had managed to reconstruct the Blackbird, with a few fancy upgrades that Charles had only half paid attention to when the scientist had rambled on about them a few months ago.<p>

The plane was now hidden in a private airstrip about half a mile away from the Westchester mansion. It took Hank and Charles about five minutes to get there by car. The ride was silent and tense. Hank was nursing a cup of coffee while Charles drove up the small wooded road that led to the airstrip.

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Charles?"

"Yes."

The words were a lie, but Charles wasn't about to admit that.

Hank didn't look convinced, but said nothing as Charles pulled into a parking space. He put his cup of coffee down and slowly climbed out of the car. Charles followed suit, trying his hardest not to wince as his back cracked and groaned.

Hank shot him an inquisitive look, missing nothing as Charles placed a hand on the car's hood for balance.

"Are you okay?"

Charles resisted the urge to growl. Why was everyone suddenly so concerned with his health?

"I'm fine."

Hank pressed his lips together, but once again, didn't say anything. It was starting to get on Charles' nerves.

They made their way to the airplane hangar in silence. It took longer than Charles would have liked, because his leg muscles were refusing to cooperate in a timely fashion.

Hank muttered something about checking fuel levels and making sure that the plane was okay before dashing off to the other side of the hangar, leaving Charles alone in the middle of the wide building.

He made his way for the plane, deciding if Hank needed help, he'd ask.

Charles had just made it to the plane when a familiar mind brushed against his. He froze, not expecting the contact.

_Aren't you supposed to be at the mansion, asleep?_

A faint chuckle reverberated inside his head.

_And leave you to all of the fun, Charles?_

Charles sighed.

_What are you doing here, Erik?_

_I'm not an idiot, my friend. I know you are entirely incapable of resisting helping other mutants discover their true goodness and I know you were in my head this morning. I can put two and two together and get four, you know._

Charles sniffed.

_You say 'discover their true goodness' like it's a bad thing._

_In you, it probably is._


	25. Memories

_This is by far the longest chapter I have written. It takes place mostly in the present—well, sort of. For those of you who keep up with the random one-shots I post every now and again, you'll recognize this chapter. Also, if you want the full story behind the first of these 'memories', feel free to read _The Winter of Our Discontent. _If you don't want to read the story, I summarize it here so you won't get confused._

**_Edit:_**_I went back and added a line-break. Sorry for the mistake!_

**Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 25: Memories**

A rush of sound, wind, and _pain_ hit Erik like a freight train before he even had the chance to fully open his eyes. He let out an involuntary gasp as his eyes flew open.

He froze as he recognized instantly where he was.

Dark, frost covered trees stood before him, their shadows casting ominous shadows on the snow-dusted ground. The sound of gunfire faded in and out of the constant roaring wind in a bone chilling melody. Somewhere nearby, Erik could just make out the sound of harsh, ragged breathing and softer, saddened whispers.

He was in Washington, near the border between the United States and Canada.

The last time he had been here, both he and Charles had almost died. It had been a cold, bloody fight between Charles, Erik, and the CIA's brainwashed mutants and government agents.

Charles and Erik had been on a recruiting excursion, similar to the one they took during the events preceding Cuba. They had found another telepath—something Charles had always hoped for, since the events in Texas—but were instantly in a race with the CIA to see who could get to the mutant first.

Charles and Erik had gotten lucky—or so they had thought. They reached the telepath, a woman in her early twenties who was halfway decent at reading minds, before the CIA. Unfortunately, the CIA caught up with them and wound up forcing to flee. Apparently, the woman telepath had been working for the CIA in attempts to capture both Charles and Erik.

The retreat had led them across the dark, snow covered forests of western Washington, which reminded Erik all too much of Poland, with the bitter cold and the harsh winds and the constant fear that one of them might be killed.

They made it close to the Canadian border, where Charles had hoped and prayed they would lose the CIA, before disaster struck.

Erik was shot, failing to see the bullet coming for him before it hit him square in the shoulder.

Charles had been injured as well, but Erik hadn't found that out until much later. Not until after they had been rescued and the _idiot _had almost died of shock from a bullet wound in his abdomen.

"Erik?"

The soft voice broke the metal bender out of his trip down memory lane. He turned, not at all surprised to find Charles standing behind him. As far as Erik could tell, this was one of Charles' memories and the telepath had sucked Erik right on inside of it.

It was the real Charles, not the one from the memory.

"Charles."

The telepath looked at him in surprise.

"What are you doing here?"

Erik shrugged.

"This is your head. You tell me."

Charles looked around, his blue eyes wide with astonishment. He shook his head, closing his eyes momentarily. He opened them a few moments later and once more met Erik's gaze. He looked almost scared.

"You shouldn't be here."

"You were the one who brought me here."

"It's dangerous. Too dangerous. Do you know what could happen to you?"

"I didn't have a say in the matter, Charles. Believe me, I'd rather _not_ be inside your head."

"This is wrong. I shouldn't be able to do this. You shouldn't be here."

"What happened, Charles?"

Charles shook his head again in agitation.

"I don't know."

"You have to know _something_."

"This is the first time something like this has ever happened to me. I've heard about it in other telepaths, but I've never actually witnessed it happen."

"What _has_ happened?"

Charles was silent for a moment.

"For whatever reason, I brought you inside my subconscious."

He looked like he was about to say more, but promptly stopped and looked away. There was a soft groan a few feet away. Erik realized it was his own.

"Why did you choose here, of all places, Charles?"

Charles pressed his lips together.

"I don't know."

The lie was evident in the way Charles' voice shook and he refused to meet Erik's gaze.

"Charles…"

Erik trailed off as realization crashed over him. Charles hadn't expected either of them to make it through that night in Washington. He had admitted as much months later when they had finally gotten around to discussing what had happened. It had been a well timed miracle on Sean's part that had saved them.

Charles wasn't expecting to live through this.

"You're a moron."

The words were out of Erik's mouth before he could stop them.

Charles looked slightly taken aback before he sighed heavily. He ran a hand through his hair.

"No, I'm a realist."

Erik took two steps forward, closing the gap between them, and placing his hands on Charles' shoulders.

"You don't get to give up, Charles. After _everything_ we've been through, you don't get to give up on me. Not now."

_Not ever_.

Charles gently removed Erik's hands and took a step back.

"You don't get to decide that, my friend."

Erik's now empty hands clenched into fists.

"You brought me here for a reason. Whatever that is, I'm here now and I'm sure as hell not going to let you _die_."

His voice cracked on the final word and he looked away.

Charles sighed heavily.

"Erik, there's nothing you _can_ do except break this connection and save yourself."

"No."

Erik looked back at Charles, squaring his shoulders and glaring defiantly. Charles crossed his arms and glared stonily back.

"You're being utterly ridiculous, Erik."

"You made me leave you behind once, Charles. I'm not doing it again."

"I could order you to leave."

"I don't think your powers work like that."

"Now would be the opportune time to find out."

"Don't."

Charles sighed.

"We've had this argument, Erik. We both know how it's going to end."

"Why do you want to give up?"

Fear flashed across Charles' face so quickly that Erik thought he might have imagined it.

"I'm not giving up. I'm accepting the inevitable."

"Which is called giving up. I want to know _why_."

Charles turned and started walking away. Erik wasn't going to let his friend go so easily. He stormed after him, belatedly realizing that it was useless, for Charles stopped a few moments later beside an all too familiar scene.

Erik longed to look away. He had already lived through this once, god damn it. He shouldn't have to deal with it all over again. The pain in his shoulder that never quite went away, even two years after the fact. The realization that help wouldn't get there in time, if it got there at all. The ever growing feeling of numbness as the cold overtook _everything_ in the end, even the pain, and pushing him over the edge into darkness. The horror upon awakening and finding out that Charles might not make it…

He clamped down on those thoughts and forced himself to study the scene. Charles had obviously fixated on this moment in time for a reason. No matter how painful it was for Erik to relive, he realized that it must have been twice as hard for Charles.

The telepath—the one in the present—looked lost as he stared at the image in front of him. His past self was leaning against a tree, one arm thrown around Erik in a purely protective manner. His eyes were half open, glazed with pain and cold. Erik noticed it now, his mind clear from his own pain from that night. He wondered in retrospect how he could have ever missed the fact that Charles was so obviously hurt in the first place.

Erik's past self was slumped against Charles' shoulder, already unconscious. His breathing was slow and shallow, barely noticeable and not at all audible over the wind, the gunshots, and Charles' own harsh breaths.

"I'm sorry, my friend. I never meant for this to happen."

The overwhelming sadness and _pain_ in the past Charles' voice almost broke Erik, and for the briefest of moments, he was glad that he was not conscious to hear that. The words were heart breaking, clear evidence that Charles had given up the one thing that had made him strong—his hope.

Past Charles coughed, a dark liquid clearly splattering the back of his hands.

Erik couldn't take watching this anymore, even though he knew the outcome, even though he _knew_ Charles lived. He tore his eyes away, squeezing them shut.

A soft hand rested on his shoulder. Erik didn't have to open his eyes to know that it belonged to the present Charles.

Erik shrugged it off, taking a few steps away as he struggled to gain control of his emotions. He swallowed around the large lump in his throat and forced himself to speak.

"You still haven't told me _why_ you're giving up."

He was determined to find out the reason and fix it before it was too late for Charles once more. Erik _refused_ to give up on Charles, even if the idiot had already given up on himself.

Charles sighed heavily, looking back at the scene from the past. Erik didn't follow his gaze, keeping his eyes focused firmly on the real Charles.

"I don't know what Stryker did to that machine. Whatever it was… it was beyond imaginable, Erik. The things that I saw… the things that I _did_. It was too much. It _is_ too much."

"What _happened_, Charles?"

Charles squeezed his eyes shut, visibly shaking. Erik stood there, frozen with a longing to comfort the telepath but at a complete and utter loss as to how he should.

Charles took a deep breath before answering.

"The machine was powerful. Too powerful. It acted as an amplifier, magnifying my powers to the point that if I came into contact with any consciousness, it would be erased. My own consciousness would simply overpower it and _erase it_. As if it had never existed."

A powerful shudder ripped through Charles. Erik noticed that in response, the trees and ground started shaking as well as Charles' reconstructed memory began to react to the tumultuous emotions of its host.

Charles pressed on, either completely unaware of the effect his emotions were having, or unaffected by it.

"I couldn't stop it. I _tried_, but I was powerless to stop it. I touched thirty-three minds—other _mutants_' minds—and they're all _gone_. Dead."

His voice, which had been shaking violently, broke completely on that last word.

Erik reached out and grasped Charles' shoulder with one hand, hoping to anchor the telepath and let him know that it was all right, but Charles refused to have any comfort. He shook the hand off in a rage, whirling around to face Erik. As he did so, the scene around them changed abruptly.

"_Don't_!"

The word, full of self-hatred and so much _pain_, barley registered in Erik's mind as he took in the sights of their new location.

It was a beach. No, Erik realized upon further inspection. It was _the _beach. The one in Cuba, where everything had changed.

Only it was different. There was no wrecked plane, no crashed submarine. There was only Charles and Erik and the serenity of the beach.

Erik wondered what it meant in the grand scheme of things.

Charles was still speaking, all of the agony he was feeling welling up to the surface as he finally exploded.

"I killed _thirty-three _people, Erik! Innocent people. People who were just going about their daily lives, who weren't even involved in this fight! _Mutants_. The ones we were trying to protect… slaughtered without a chance. By _me_."

"It wasn't your fault, Charles."

Charles showed no indication that he heard Erik.

"I could have stopped it. I _should_ have stopped it. I should have been able to keep from _killing_ those people. Those _mutants_."

"How? How could you have stopped it, Charles?"

Charles shook his head violently, running a trembling hand through his hair.

"I should have found a way. I should have fought harder. Instead I just _gave in_ to Stryker. I knew what he wanted, what he was planning, but I just _let_ him."

"No, you didn't. You fought as hard as you could."

"No, I didn't, or otherwise those people would still be alive."

"_No_. Sometimes, Charles, bad things happen and you can't do anything to change them. Stryker would have _killed_ you and Hank and every other mutant in that room had you refused to cooperate. He would have killed you _all_."

He felt as though the extra emphasis was necessary, though it was lost on Charles.

"Three of them were children. And I could only watch as they slipped away. I couldn't do anything to help them. I touched their minds and they just _vanished_."

His blue eyes were wide with pain and suffering. Erik longed to find the words that could break through to the telepath, to show Charles that what happened was _not_ his fault, but he couldn't find anything that didn't sound utterly false. The metal bender had never been the one for eloquent words; that had always been Charles' occupation.

Still, Erik knew this was a battle he couldn't afford to lose. To lose meant he would lose Charles. And that was not an option.

"It was Stryker who did this, Charles. Not you. You weren't the one who adjusted the machine to deadly levels."

The words weren't working. Erik could see it on Charles' face.

"Charles, damn it, listen to me. You are not at fault for this. There was nothing you could have done!"

"There never is! There _never_ is anything that I could have done! But that doesn't _mean_ anything, Erik! It doesn't change the fact that thirty-three mutants _died_ tonight because of what happened. It doesn't change the fact that I was the one who killed those thirty-three mutants. It doesn't change the fact that I felt every last one of their hopes and dreams fade away as my _mind_ took all of that from them! Stryker might have been the one who made the machine that powerful, but I was the one who _used_ that power!"

"You didn't do it willingly!"

"What difference does it make? Those people are _gone_ and they're never coming back because of _me_."

"It wasn't your choice, Charles. You did everything in your power to stop it from happening."

"A lot of good _that_ did."

"Sometimes, bad things happen, and you can't do anything about it. Sometimes, you're the one who does those bad things. But that doesn't mean you can just turn your back on everything. You can't just _give up_ when things get hard."

"I _killed_ them, Erik! This isn't some mutant recruiting trip gone wrong. I committed _murder_. That's not okay! I can't… I …"

He trailed off, closing his eyes. He took a deep breath, obviously trying to get his emotions under control.

Erik took a deep breath, trying to gain control over his emotions and his thoughts. His next line of argument wasn't going to be pleasant.

"Would you say it's my fault that my mother died?"

Charles' eyes shot open, widening in horrified disbelief.

"No! Of course not."

Erik fought to keep his focus on the argument at hand and not allow himself to get lost in his memories. He couldn't. Not if he wanted to save Charles from himself.

"I had the power to move the coin. I should have been able to. I should have stopped Shaw from killing my mother."

"You were a _kid_, Erik! You didn't have any control over your powers!"

"And _you_ didn't either. You had been given telepathic inhibitors for _weeks_, you were half-starved, and you had been beaten almost religiously for over a month. How the hell were you supposed to have control over your powers?"

Charles looked away. Erik pressed on.

"Stryker took advantage of your weaknesses. Hell, he caused most of them. He knew you weren't strong enough to fight against the power of the machine. He knew what you would do and what that would do to you."

Charles still didn't look at him, but Erik knew he was getting through to him.

"He wants this to destroy you, Charles. He wants you to give up, to just let go. Don't do it. Don't let him win, Charles."

As if in response, the scene around them changed once more.

* * *

><p>The tension was so thick in the air that Hank swore he could have cut it with one of his claws. He was thankful that he had the excuse of actually having to fly the plane, so that he wouldn't have to participate in the glaring contest going on in the body of the plane behind him.<p>

Erik and Charles were seated on either side of the plane, staring at each other with such intensity that Hank was certain the plane itself was going to burst into flames if they didn't stop soon.

Hank would have to be blind, deaf, and stupid not to know that _something_ had happened between them between last night and Charles' sudden need to fly to Texas, as well as their sudden silent argument. Both the telepath and the metal wielder had been getting along fine last night, much to the chagrin of both Hank and Sean.

"You're being an idiot, Erik."

Hank started at the sound of Charles' voice. He cast a swift glance behind him, once more glad that he wasn't on the receiving end of either of those glares.

"And you're _not_, Charles?"

There was something akin to a growl as Charles huffed a sigh. Hank listened with acute interest, glad their conversation had finally gone audible.

"You're the one still recovering from the hell the CIA put you through."

"And you're the one who's not supposed to be using your powers at the moment, remember?"

Hank could almost hear Charles roll his eyes. Annoyance flared inside the scientist's mind—didn't Charles understand the risks of using his power too soon? Didn't he realize that he almost _died_ from his actions during Erik and Raven's rescue?

Charles sighed heavily.

"Hank, if you're going to argue that point, do it _quietly_ so I can't hear you. Erik, I'll be _fine_."

Erik made a disbelieving noise in the back of his throat, one that Hank was inclined to agree with. Charles might have been unconscious for the most part once they got back to the Westchester mansion—having brain trauma did that—but Hank was _not_ in a hurry to revisit that process.

Charles sighed again.

"Look, all I want to do is go talk to these people. Show them that they're being idiots."

Erik answered before Hank had the chance.

"When has that _ever_ worked for you, Charles?"

The telepath didn't reply.


	26. Tension

_I'm sorry for the delay in this chapter... I really have no excuse, outside of the fact that I just forgot to update. So, here's chapter 26 and chapter 27 will be up tomorrow! Promise!_

_Also, chapter 28 will be the last of my pre-written chapters, so from there on out, we'll just be relying on my sporadic writing habits to see us through. But don't worry-the ending of this story has already been planned and is in the process of being written. I just have to go through and flesh the rest of it out._

_Thanks for reading and reviewing! : )_

**Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 26: Tension**

The heart monitors in the hospital beeped quietly, the only sign that both Erik and Charles were still alive.

Raven sighed as she clutched a giant cup of coffee in one hand and glanced at the clock above her. It read two o'clock in the morning. Another hour had already passed. It was time to call Hank again.

She really didn't remember much about what happened between the military trucks and the hospital. She had been running high on both adrenaline and fear, hoping and praying that Charles would be all right and they would all get through this. She vaguely remembered quickly, yet cautiously moving Charles, Sean, and an unconscious Erik to another military truck and taking off down the road, but outside of a blur of trees and shouted directions, Raven didn't recall the drive to the hospital at all. Nor did she know where they were, just that they were far away from Langely.

Raven was now sitting on an uncomfortable wooden chair between Charles and Erik. Sean was asleep on Charles' other side, his face tight with pain. He had had a nasty concussion from the brick wall falling on his head.

Charles was deep in a coma with no news as to whether he would live or not. It physically hurt Raven to look at him. He was covered almost head to toe in bandages, tangible reminders of how greatly she had failed him over the past two months. She had left him behind. She hadn't wanted to, but the fact remained that she _had_ and now, he was hovering on the edge of death, all because she couldn't risk looking for him. Stryker had had his way with Charles because Raven _hadn't been strong enough_.

Erik was also in a coma, though no one was able to explain why. Physically, save for his still healing injuries, he was fine. There was nothing wrong with him, except that he was in a coma. Hank didn't know why either, though he was betting—and Raven agreed with him—that Charles' powers had something to do with it.

Raven was really beginning to hate telepathy.

Sighing heavily, Raven took another sip of her coffee, wincing as the vile black liquid slid down her throat. She suddenly found herself desperately wishing for a cup of chamomile tea. Though she detested it almost as much as she hated coffee, Raven wanted the safety and assurances the tea brought. Charles had always been the one to make it, whenever Raven was sick, or hurt, or scared. More than anything, Raven just wanted her brother, awake and _fine_. She wanted to put this whole nightmare behind her and just curl up with Charles in the library and listen to him prattle on about some boring nonsense that made him happy or watch him play a game of chess with Erik. She wanted _Charles_.

Raven wasn't an idiot. She knew that being in a coma meant that even if Charles _did_ wake up, there was no guarantee he would be 100% Charles. That he might have brain damage or simply might not even be there anymore. This wasn't the first time Charles had slipped into a coma, but that didn't make it any less painful.

Raven looked away from Charles' bruised and bandaged face, closing her eyes tightly. She wanted someone there with her, even if it wasn't her brother, to tell her that it was going to be okay, that Charles was going to be fine. Unfortunately, there wasn't anyone left. With Erik in the hospital right alongside Charles and Hank being unable to go out into public without drawing unneeded attention to them, Raven was forced to be the strong one here, to be there for Charles, even when she thought she couldn't handle it.

Sighing again, Raven opened her eyes and instead studied Erik for a minute. If it weren't for the various monitors and machines he was hooked up to, she could have mistaken him for being asleep. His eyes were constantly moving behind his eyelids, clear signs that he was dreaming. She didn't get excited over it though—he had been doing that since he had slipped into a coma.

"What are you dreaming about in there?"

Her silent question received no answer.

Raven took a deep breath and slowly released it. She glanced at the clock again. 2:05 in the morning. It was definitely time to call Hank.

* * *

><p>Charles folded his bad arm across his chest and glared at Erik. The limb was starting to protest his earlier stupidity of climbing the satellite dish, though he was able to ignore it for the time being.<p>

Erik glared right back, his expression infinitely more stubborn and angry than Charles' could ever be. He had had more practice with the intimidation thing than Charles had.

"You're both being idiots."

Hank's voice floated to them from the front of the plane, but neither Erik nor Charles decided to give it a response.

Charles sighed.

"Erik."

"Charles."

The telepath had to fight against the urge to literally growl at the metal wielder. Why did the man have to be so _infuriatingly _stubborn?

Erik gave him a look that clearly said Charles had been projecting and that all of it was bullshit.

Charles agreed. This entire situation _was_ ridiculous.

"I'm not going to Texas to prove to you that I'm mentally stable. I _am_ over everything."

He was careful not to mention Kurt or Cuba or any other of the billion and one things that might make Hank remotely curious about the deeper meanings of this sudden trip to Texas.

"Then why _are_ you going?"

Erik was not an idiot, though Charles was seriously beginning to question the other man's intelligence.

"I told you."

Erik rolled his eyes.

"I have a hard time believing the only reason you want to go to Texas is because I was thinking they might cause some alarm later on down the road."

"It's a perfectly valid reason."

"Yes, to deal with _later_. It's not something that you needed to take the first available flight down to Texas for."

"Right. Because you definitely weren't planning on flying down here yourself."

"Later."

It was Charles' turn to roll his eyes.

"I don't believe you."

"You never do."

Charles froze, realizing for the first time that Erik hadn't come on this trip simply because he wanted to irritate Charles or because he wanted to talk to the renegade mutants himself. _He_ was the one with a mission to prove something and that thought alone made Charles sad.

"I _do_ believe you most of the time, Erik."

His words were purposefully soft so that they wouldn't carry to the front of the plane.

Erik shook his head.

"Not when it matters."

Their conversation in the library earlier that morning drifted through Charles' head. He winced, realizing all too late the impact his accusations would have had on Erik's already fragile sense of trust.

"I'm sorry, my friend. I didn't mean that I didn't trust you."

Erik sighed heavily.

"Yes, you did."

Charles floundered for a minute, trying to think of something to say. Erik beat him to it.

"It's _fine_, Charles. I understand. You can't trust me, not after everything I've done."

The beach jumped to the forefront of both of their minds. Charles grimaced.

"I have told you I forgive you."

"And I believe you. But I don't think you've forgiven yourself for trusting me in the first place. Nor have you begun to forgive yourself for what happened to your step-father."

Charles closed his eyes, not to avoid seeing Erik's guaranteed _pity_, but to avoid letting his memories overcome him. Avoiding Erik's pity was just an added bonus.

Erik pressed on, purposefully keeping his voice as low as Charles' had been so Hank would hear what was going on.

"I'm not asking you trust me, Charles. That would be unfair to you and to what happened to you. But this… whatever _this_ is, you don't have to do it. You don't have to prove to me that you're brave or strong or whatever you think you're doing."

"Believe it or not, Erik, the world does not revolve around you. Nor does it revolve around me. What I'm doing is in the best interest of that world, so that it keeps revolving around the sun and so that the mutants don't blow it up in their attempts for freedom."

Erik growled. Charles opened his eyes, staring defiantly into Erik's hard glare for a moment, before sighing heavily.

"Listen, Erik, despite what you may think, what I told you this morning doesn't change anything between us. Just because you've learned that I have a dark past doesn't necessarily mean that everything I do is out to prove something. My reasons for going to Texas are what I've told you multiple times now: I want to fix a problem before it explodes in our faces."

Erik opened his mouth to reply, but Charles cut across him.

"You are right about one thing, though. I _don't_ trust you. I can't. Not right now. I do however _forgive_ you and really wish that you would stop blaming every little thing that's happened to me on yourself."

"A bullet in your spine is hardly little, Charles."

The ignored muscle spasms in Charles' back fully agreed with Erik, but Charles refused to acknowledge it.

"But it wasn't your fault, as I have blatantly told you time and time again. Nor was Kurt's abuse, nor were my actions of that. Come to think of it, the _only_ thing that I can blame you for is for saving me from myself."

Erik raised an eyebrow, obviously confused as to the sudden turn this conversation had taken.

"How so?"

Charles twisted his lips into the faintest beginnings of a smile. It faded quickly.

"You don't know how dark things got after Alex died."

The familiar pain clawed at his heart and threatened to overcome him, but with a Herculean effort, Charles shoved it to the back of his mind. He would deal with it later.

Erik looked at a loss for words. Charles pressed on.

"What you saw before the CIA took you was only one snippet in a very long line of depression. For all of us, though I think I was the most effected because of my empathy."

Erik's face darkened into an impassive, emotionless mask. Charles hated that look, knowing what it usually boded, from both experience and Erik's memories.

"This isn't your fault, Erik. Please, remember that. You weren't the one who forced Alex to go to Vietnam. If anyone is to blame in this, it's me. And I know that."

"How is Alex's stepping on a landmine your fault?"

Charles looked away, wishing that he had never decided to pursue this line of conversation. He would gladly have Erik be mad at him and think he was insane then to be forced to reveal what he had done to Alex.

Erik, however, was never one for giving up.

"Charles."

"I encouraged Alex to go. I told him that it would be good for him, that he could save lives and all that usual recruiting crap. I should have known better. Especially after…"

He was about to say _my own father's death_, but admitting it out loud somewhere other than the solitude of that satellite dish with all that came afterward seemed almost sinful.

Erik made a noise that could have been anything from a sigh to a whimper. Charles looked back at him, surprised to find the range of emotions on Erik's face. The other man looked almost _compassionate_ about Alex's death and everything that it entailed. He didn't look accusing or hateful after Charles' revelations. Though, some part of Charles suspected that Erik had already known. During their first few meetings, Charles' mental shields had been down so low that it wouldn't have taken much for Charles to accidentally project things to anyone, let alone a mind he was intimately familiar with.

Charles looked away again, unable to bear looking at the look in Erik's eyes, knowing that he wasn't worthy of such a look.

"Charles…"

Whatever Erik had been about to say was interrupted by Hank, who obviously had sensed the mounting tension in the back of the plane and decided to change the subject. Though Charles was grateful for it, he rather regretted Hank's choice of subject.

"Professor, I was wondering… why couldn't you read or change Stryker's mind?"

Charles sighed. Why couldn't he have just stayed in bed this morning?


	27. Impossible

_So, this is the chapter where we take a merry jaunt down the road of 'out of left field-ness.' And this chapter almost ended up being all Charles' consciousness scenes, until I realized that that's all that it was and added some of Texas at the end._

_Thank you for all of your continued support! It makes me really happy when I open up my email in the mornings to all of your wonderful words. _

**Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 27: Impossible**

Pain.

It was all around Erik. It consumed him. It was him. He was it. There was nothing besides _pain_.

He let out a gasp as his eyes flew open. He was no longer standing by the ocean and Charles was no longer standing beside him.

Instead, they were in another hauntingly familiar place, though this one was much sharper in Erik's mind.

It was the CIA's prison that they had just left.

To be more specific, it was the basement room at the end of the long dark hallway where the machine that almost killed –_had killed?_— Charles had been.

The room was as it had been when Erik left; completely and utterly destroyed. Blood spattered the floor where the hard cement wasn't covered by piles of bricks and debris. But unlike the last time, where there had been bodies and _Stryker_ and a dying Charles, there was just this subconscious version of Charles. The one who simultaneously appeared healthy and dead all the same time. The one with the pale face, accentuated by dark circles underneath his haunted blue eyes and the too thin frame that was slightly hunched in pain.

Erik _hated_ it.

Charles stood in the center of the room, right where Erik had found him—_how long ago had it been? How much time had passed between the rescue and now?_

"This is where it all ends."

The words frightened Erik more than Charles' appearance, more than everything else that had happened that night. The look on Charles' face, paired with the scene around them, and everything else Erik had seen in Charles' head said enough. That, coupled with the fact that the words didn't come from Charles, was enough to send Erik into a full fledged panic attack.

Charles looked as bewildered as Erik felt as he slowly looked around the room. His blue eyes were bright with pain and horror as he realized what was happening.

_That makes one of us_.

Erik's dark thought rang loud and clear in the silence of the room. He realized belatedly that the chance of hiding his own thoughts from a telepath while inside said telepath's head were slim to none.

Charles barely reacted to Erik's thought, though. His eyes widened as they settled on a point behind Erik.

Erik slowly turned around, wary of what he was about to find. Anything that had the power to cause that sort of reaction in Charles must have been frightening.

It was Charles.

Erik stared in confusion as _Charles_ walked into the room.

It was a different Charles, to be sure. This one was more… _alive_. His steps were even and certain, borderline cocky. His face was filled out and healthy. His eyes were bright and mischievous. He seemed more like Charles than the haunted, broken man who stood directly behind Erik now.

"_No_."

It was the broken Charles that whispered as the other Charles came to a halt in front of Erik, grinning in an almost arrogant manner.

"Hello, dear. Have you missed me?"

* * *

><p>Charles ran a hand through his hair, sighing for what seemed like the tenth time that morning.<p>

"Stryker is a coldhearted bastard."

His prolific statement was enough to bring something akin to a smirk on Erik's curious face and what sounded like something between a growl and a laugh from Hank.

Erik recovered first.

"That's an understatement. And something I thought I'd never hear from you."

Charles leveled Erik with a look.

"I'm not the saint you make me out to be. And it's true. I have never met a man more calculating or more conniving than Stryker, with the exception of maybe Shaw."

"What does this have to do with your inability to read his mind?"

While Erik could be subtle when he wanted to, he preferred the art of bluntness. Charles resisted the urge to roll his eyes, though he had a feeling that his irritation was mutual.

"Stryker's mind is unlike anyone's I've ever touched. He's so compartmentalized that he has almost the perfect defense against telepaths."

Charles really hated the thoughtful look in Erik's eyes, carefully hidden by layers of curiosity and possibly unfeigned concern.

"What does that mean?"

It was always easy to forget that there were other people in the world when Charles was around Erik. The telepath almost jumped at the sound of Hank's voice.

"It means that through some force of Stryker's being—whether it's his deep seated hatred and fear of mutants or if it's some mutation of his own—I can't read his mind unless he purposefully grants me access or projects thoughts. It's unreal. I have never been able to meet someone who has been able to do that, at least, not unconsciously like Stryker does. Telepaths can do it to a certain degree—it's more because they have to than because they need to, so they don't become overwhelmed by the world at large—but it's a conscious decision. It's why I'm more vulnerable to projecting when I'm asleep or when I'm stressed, because it takes a lot of effort to be able to control my mind like that."

Understanding flashed through Erik's eyes, though Charles was fairly certain he didn't know what the metal wielder had grasped so suddenly. And he wasn't about to risk looking into Erik's mind to find out, either.

Hank interjected before Charles had the chance to question Erik.

"So you can't read Stryker's mind unless he _lets_ you read his mind?"

Charles mentally sighed.

"Yes."

"How is—that's _crazy_."

Charles agreed, though he was distracted by the look on Erik's face. It was thoughtful and calculating. The last time Charles had seen that look, he had wound up paralyzed. A mental image of a helmeted Erik floated through his mind.

Suddenly, it all clicked. Charles had accidentally proven that the helmet was now useless, so Erik was looking for alternative ways to block telepathy.

That fact alone wasn't surprising. What was surprising was the fact that it had taken Charles this long to realize it.

He mentally groaned as he realized another fact: Erik wasn't coming to Texas merely to keep Charles company or to keep him from overusing his powers or even to prove his worth.

Erik wanted to leave.

* * *

><p>Erik looked from the Charles behind him to the Charles in front and back again, unable to comprehend what was going on. The smirk on the healthier Charles' face and the shocked look on the other Charles' face did nothing to help the matters either.<p>

"Would somebody mind telling me what the _hell_ is going on here?"

Surprisingly, his voice didn't shake nor did it betray how frightening he found all of this.

"_Onslaught_."

The faint whisper came from behind Erik. He spun around, raising an eyebrow in confusion. The sickly Charles shook his head, his blue eyes dark with pain.

The other Charles spoke up.

"Right in one! Got to say, Charlie-boy, it's been _years_ since I've been able to have the chance to speak to you face to face."

Erik was still looking at the hurt Charles, trying to guess what was going on. It was impossible to read the telepath's face, though. There were so many warring emotions on his face, that his emotions created a mask that kept Erik at bay.

"Charles…"

The cocky Charles spoke again.

"Erik Lensherr. What an honor it is to meet you face to face. I have to say, it's thanks to you that I exist at all."

Erik turned slowly, the hair on the back of his neck rising.

"What do you mean?"

Charles smiled. It wasn't a happy smile. No, far from it. It was a bitterly sarcastic smile, that held traces of dark humor that Erik would never even begin to understand. It was the complete opposite of the usual expressions on Charles' face, that even after nearly four years of being Charles' friend, it made Erik realize he knew next to nothing about the telepath.

Dark Charles was speaking again.

"I mean what I said. I wouldn't exist, at least not this powerfully, without you."

Erik looked back to the injured Charles, searching for some explanation. There was none forthcoming. The weaker Charles looked like he was still in shock. Erik returned his gaze to the other Charles, who was still grinning.

"What exactly are you?"

"I'm a manifestation of Charles' subconscious. Or, rather, his personality. Did you ever wonder why that man is so… _saint_ like? How he's so _tolerant_ of others? Why he _never_ uses the power you know that he has? It's because of me."

"What do you mean?"

"Imagine a world where Charles doesn't have his control because he doesn't want it. Where he does whatever he wants when he feels like and damns the consequences."

Erik swallowed heavily and looked back to the other Charles, who was still looking as though he had been hit by a truck.

"Is this true?"

The pale imitation of Charles nodded briefly.

"Yes."

Erik turned back to the Charles without inhibitions.

"And when you say it's because of me that you exist?"

"Haven't you ever wondered what would happen if a telepath stayed connected with one person for far too long? Especially a telepath that also happens to be an empath? They start to take on bits and pieces of the other personality. In short, they start to become the person they've become attached to."

Erik's eyes widened as the truth of that statement hit him.

"That's impossible."

Charles snorted.

"You can lift submarines with your mind, I can control people, and my sister can take on the form of anyone she wants and you're saying _this_ is impossible?"

* * *

><p>They made it to a private airstrip in Texas without any further conversation. Charles had fallen into a pensive silence and Erik was too busy glaring out the window to notice.<p>

Hank mumbled something about staying with the plane as Charles and Erik got off. They both turned to look at him, Charles was puzzled and Erik looked relieved.

"Are you sure, Hank?"

"Yeah. I've had enough of…"

He trailed off. Charles hid a sad smile, guessing the end of Hank's thought. It wasn't too hard to figure out—Charles and Erik had been at each other's throats the entire flight down to Texas. Charles could understand why Hank needed to get away from them for a while.

"Well, stay with the plane. With any luck, we'll be back here in an hour or two."

Erik snorted in disbelief. Charles mentally sighed.

_Can you stop being so pessimistic?_

_I'm sorry, Charles. It's just that you're so annoyingly naïve at times._

Charles rolled his eyes. Hank looked at them with knowing eyes before he shook his head.

"If you're not back in an hour, I'm coming after you."

"Don't. If we're caught, then you need to get back to New York and warn the others. We don't need you winding up in jail as well."

It was Hank's turn to roll his eyes.

"I can take care of myself."


	28. Dreamland

_Special thanks to TristeAlma for reviewing every single chapter in one day! You rock. This chapter is dedicated to you._

_As for the rest of you, who have been here since the beginning… thank you. I know I've sucked at updating as of late… and there's really no reason why. _

_And here ends the last of the not-so-scheduled regular updates. _

**The Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 28: Dreamland **

The scene changed abruptly once more. It was a place more familiar to Erik than anywhere else in the entire world. He walked it often enough in his dreams, haunted by the memories that clung to it and never being able to fully escape all of the horror that happened here.

The two Charles and Erik stood on one side of a giant chain link fence, broken only by a black, metal gate. The top of the fence was lined with barbed wire. It was raining steadily, making the dirt ground underneath turn to a sea of mud.

Erik felt a sinking sense of horror as he turned to the two men beside him.

"Why are we here?"

He barely recognized his own voice. It was a twisted snarl, filled with bitterness, hatred, and regret—a combination he thought he'd never use when speaking to Charles.

The darker Charles had lost his smirk. Instead, he looked more dangerous than ever, dressed simply in a black jacket and pants that accented the darkness of his eyes. He regarded Erik with a solemn expression.

"Because I want you to remember."

"Remember _what_, exactly?"

The other Charles started, his face changing from the shocked horror into something akin to anger as he glared at Dark Charles. His voice was hard and flat when he spoke.

"Don't."

The metal gate shuddered violently and vanished for a moment, being replaced by the Xavier mansion for a heartbeat, before the gate returned.

Dark Charles let out a cold, cruel laugh as the other Charles bent over, gasping for breath.

"Do you honestly think you're strong enough to beat _me_?"

The other Charles dropped to his knees, one hand pressed to his temple. The scene once more shook and this time, the Xavier mansion in the middle of broad daylight stayed.

Dark Charles smirked.

"Cute."

The mansion faded away in a blink of Dark Charles' eyes. Instead of being in Poland, they were something almost as intimately familiar to Erik. It was his wedding day.

Erik froze as his eyes rested on his bride-to-be walking down the aisle way. She was as beautiful as he remembered, in a long white dress and a simple, yet elegant veil. Their daughter sat in the front pew, with a happy smile on her face.

It would be the last time he saw either of them alive.

The other Charles stumbled to his feet, shuddering violently.

"Don't do this. _Please_."

Erik tore his eyes away from Magda at the sound of the pleading voice.

Dark Charles smiled serenely.

"It is what has to be done, my dear. You know that as well as I do."

"_Please_."

Erik looked between the two of them, trying to figure out what was happening, and failing entirely.

Dark Charles sighed heavily, turning to face Erik. His voice was cold when he spoke.

"I am sorry for this. I truly am. The pain you've gone through and are about to go through again is a pain no man should have to bear. But I need you to do this."

"_Why_?"

Erik's voice was a broken, overly emotional snarl as Magda walked up the small steps and joined his past self at the altar.

Dark Charles grinned.

"You don't honestly believe I'm going to tell you anything, now do I?"

He took a step closer to Erik, who unconsciously took a step backward. While this version of Charles was no bigger than the man Erik knew, there was something about him that seemed _dangerous_.

Erik had almost completely forgotten about the other Charles at that point, with his attention split between his ill-fated wedding and Dark Charles' plan. He was reminded in a hurry when the other one started talking.

"He wants to use you like Shaw did. He wants you to remember the pain and suffering you went through so he can use it against you. He wants, in short, for you to become an animal, so he can finish Shaw's plan of ruling the world."

Erik turned to look at the other Charles, alarmed by how _pale_ and injured he looked. Blood was seeping steadily out of his nose, one eye was closed, and all of the injuries he had suffered back in the land of consciousness seemed to be making an appearance.

He went to move over to Charles, to make sure he was all right, but he couldn't move a single muscle.

Dark Charles let out a harsh laugh.

"You're not going anywhere, Lensherr. And Charlie, don't be absurd! What Shaw was planning was elementary. I don't want to destroy the world! I want to _save it_!"

The other Charles shook his head.

"You're going to have a rough time of it saving it from the inside of my head. Face it—you're trapped here."

Dark Charles just sighed.

"When are you going to learn, _Charlie_? I am more powerful than you are because I'm not ruled by the stupid morals you are. You're the one trapped in here. Not me."

With that, he vanished and the scene of a much younger Erik and Magda walking back down the aisle ripped itself apart. In its place was the Westchester mansion's garden.

Erik's attention was yanked away from the satellite dish in the distance by a sharp gasp. His eyes widened in horror as they rested on Charles.

The telepath was on his knees, with one arm wrapped around his chest, and the other placed firmly on the ground to keep him upright. Sweat and blood plastered his hair to his forehead. His eyes were firmly shut and blood was still dripping out of his nose.

_"Charles_."

Erik closed the distance between them in a single stride. He crouched down beside his friend and placed a gentle hand on Charles' shoulder.

The other man opened his eyes. The sheer amount of _pain_ in them was overwhelming.

"Erik… I'm sorry."

Erik's hand tightened on Charles' shoulder.

"You have nothing to be sorry for."

Charles shook his head and let out a cough. Blood stained his lips and the arm around his chest tightened.

"Yes, I do. I let him free. I gave up, Erik. I knew what he is capable of and I knew what his plans were and I just let him free."

His words were coming out in short gasps, but the meaning of them was clear.

Erik shook his head, deciding to deal with that issue later. He highly doubted that this Charles really had any control over that other Charles at the moment.

"This is not _your_ fault, Charles."

"You don't get it. I _let_ him free. And now, we're trapped."

Erik froze—he hadn't considered the implications of what his still being here with Charles meant.

"What?"

Charles closed his eyes again and took a deep breath, shuddering violently.

"We're trapped inside my mind. Onslaught—the darker me—he locked us in here."

"Telepaths can do that?"

Even after four years of knowing Charles and other telepaths, it was surprising how little Erik knew about them.

Charles smiled grimly.

"How do you think I've kept him under control for so long?"

He shook again, letting out another cough. Erik gently tugged one of Charles' arms around his shoulders, offering the telepath a little more support. Charles leaned into him gratefully.

They sat there in silence for a few minutes, before Erik sighed.

"Why am I still here?"

Charles gave a one-shouldered shrug.

"I guess, for now, he has other plans."

"Like what?"

Charles shook his head.

"This may seem strange, but I can't read his mind while I'm stuck inside it."

The lie gleamed in his eyes, but for once, Erik decided not to push it.

"So what now?"

Charles glanced at him, his eyes glazed with pain.

"Now, we survive in here long enough for me to gain my strength back and then we take on Onslaught."

Erik smiled slightly.

"That's my kind of plan."

* * *

><p>It was just closing in on noon Texan time as Charles and Erik made their way to the main part of Dallas. The streets were slammed packed with people, a fact which both surprised and worried Erik. He had never been one for crowds and one this big symbolized something important.<p>

_I almost forgot. The president is supposed to be giving a speech here today._

Charles' slightly dazed thoughts alerted Erik to the fact that the telepath was just as affected—if not more so—than Erik was about the crowd.

_Just focus on my mind. Block out the rest._

Charles gave Erik a sideways glance, but didn't say anything. Erik felt a slight pressure in his mind and the overwhelmed look on Charles' face slowly faded away.

_Thank you, my friend._

Erik nodded once, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

_You won't be any help if you're unconscious._

They made their way through the crowd in relative silence. Erik felt Charles reach out with his powers in attempts to find the rouge mutants, but the hundreds of minds from the crowd proved to be too overwhelming for the telepath.

_Erik, I don't know if I'm going to be of use today._

_When are you ever of use, Charles?_

Erik received an eye roll for his efforts, but from the strained look on Charles' face, he knew that the sarcasm did little to ease the tension.

_So where now?_

Charles looked around, before pointing down the road.

_That way._

_Are you sure?_

_Not in the slightest._

They started walking down the road.

* * *

><p>Raven settled back down in the uncomfortable wooden chair after she hung up the phone with Hank. He had been forced to find somewhere to hide out until Sean or Raven could come find him. With the recent CIA break out, the entire world would be more suspicious than ever about any mutant activity whatsoever. Raven couldn't risk losing Hank, not again. Not on top of everything that had happened.<p>

She folded her arms against her chest, suddenly cold despite the warm air coming from the rattling heater in the ceiling.

Two beds over, Sean stirred slightly in his sleep, mumbling incoherently, before he rolled over and let out a huge snore. Raven smiled slightly at how childish he seemed when he was asleep.

With a heavy sigh, she looked back to Charles, who was unresponsive and pale. His eyes, she noticed with surprise, were moving rapidly back and forth behind their lids.

She reached out with one hand and gently grasped his. She was shocked when he gently squeezed it back.

"_Charles_?"

There was no response and the pressure on her hand rapidly disappeared. But she knew it had been there in the first place.

She smiled as tears stung her eyes and made their way down her face. It was the first sign she had seen that he was still in there. Still fighting.

"Don't give up on me, Charles. Please. I'm right here. Just stay with me."


	29. The Beginning

…_And here's a special update because I was two weeks late… And for real this time. This is the last of my pre-written stuff. _

**The Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 29: The Beginning**

Charles froze mid-step when they were about halfway down the sidewalk. Erik glanced at him, raising an eyebrow in confusion and some concern.

The telepath shook his head and pointed. Erik followed his gaze, stunned to find two people he never expected to see standing a few yards away. One was Emma Frost, who supposedly sold herself to the government. The other was Angel Salvadore, who hadn't been seen since Erik and Raven had been kidnapped by the CIA.

_Damn it._

Charles closed his eyes, opening them again half a second later with a look of annoyance.

"The crowd's too big. I can't get a grasp on their minds. I just know that they're here and where they are."

"Do you know if there are others?"

Charles shook his head.

"I don't know. I can only sense those two because I've been in their minds before."

Erik sighed heavily.

"I guess we're going to have to do this the old fashioned way, then."

Charles raised an eyebrow.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, before I had a telepath to do all of my spying for me, I did use to have conversations with people."

Charles rolled his eyes and huffed a laugh.

"Point taken. All right. Lead on, fearless leader. They're probably less likely to kill you than me."

"Don't be ridiculous, Charles. No one is out to kill you."

"I know at least six people who would say differently."

"Stryker and the CIA don't count. They're out to kill all mutants and you're just included because you can read minds."

Charles scowled.

"I wasn't talking strictly about them."

Erik raised an eyebrow, but otherwise said nothing. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know what Charles meant by that, especially after all the telepath admitted to that morning.

They walked down the sidewalk, their efforts to reach the other two mutants hampered by the large crowd and the fact Charles couldn't seem to keep his balance.

The third time Charles stumbled in the span of five seconds, Erik had had enough.

_Are you all right?_

Charles blinked back at him with stubborn, annoyed eyes. All sense of camaraderie they had developed since leaving the plane disappeared instantly.

"I'm fine."

The telepath's voice was barely above a growl and he pushed by Erik, only to trip once more. He was saved by doing a face plant onto the hot cement by Erik, who had been more or less expecting the move.

"No, Charles, you're not."

Erik received an eye roll and a glare for his efforts.

"I don't need your help, Erik."

"Charles-."

"_Leave_ _it_."

There was just enough persuasion in Charles' words that Erik was left dumfounded and unable to move as his friend stormed off through the crowd.

Coming back to his senses, Erik made to follow Charles—if only to save the idiot from himself—but was brought up short when Angel stepped into his path.

"Hello, Magneto."

* * *

><p>Raven looked away from Charles briefly to study Erik. He was still completely out of it, though the rapid eye movement beneath his eye lids had slowed down considerably. She frowned, not understanding what it meant.<p>

There was a faint groan behind her. Raven turned back to Charles, hope momentarily erasing the concern she felt for Erik.

Charles' eyes fluttered and then sprang open, revealing pained blue eyes. Raven let out a gasp of surprise.

"_Charles!_"

He blinked, his eyes momentarily closing for a moment, before he locked eyes with her. He looked puzzled, as though he couldn't figure out where he was.

Raven gently took his hand into hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. Tears of happiness stung her eyes but she managed to keep her emotions in check.

"Can you hear me, Charles?"

Charles made a faint noise of affirmation, a faint smile spreading across his face.

"Raven."

His voice was barley audible, scarcely louder than a breathy whisper, but it was the sweetest sound in the entire world.

"I'm here, Charles. I'm here."

A tear slid down her cheek before she could stop it. Charles looked mildly concerned.

"Are you all right?"

Raven closed her eyes and nodded, swallowing around the lump in her throat.

"I'm fine, Charles."

He raised his chin a fraction of an inch in a nod of relief, before his eyes started slipping shut. Raven bit her lip, unable to completely hide the relieved, happy smile that spread across her face.

"Get some sleep, Charles. You're okay. We're all going to be okay."

* * *

><p>An explosion of emotion crashed over Erik's mind as he stared at Angel in astonishment. He couldn't believe that she was standing in front of him, alive and seemingly <em>healthy<em> after nearly a month and a half of being held captive by the CIA.

"What are you doing here?"

His voice was surprisingly steady and calm, betraying nothing of his inner turmoil. He would never admit it to anyone except perhaps Charles, but the thought of what happened to Angel kept Erik up at night. He had felt so _guilty_ about not being able to do more to protect her, for letting her fall into the hands of the CIA.

But, apparently, she was fine. And she was smiling.

"I'm looking for the other mutants, same as you."

Erik gave her a sideways glance.

"And you think they're going to reveal themselves in the middle of a parade?"

A fleeting look of fear crossed Angel's face. The hair on the back of Erik's neck began to rise.

"What's going on, Angel?"

She shook her head.

"I can't tell you."

"_Angel_."

"Seriously, Magneto. I want to tell you but I _can't_."

The true meaning of her words hit him.

"Where's Emma?"

"I don't know—we split up in the crowd. Magneto, it isn't her fault."

The words threw him for a moment.

"What?"

"She didn't want to do this. But Stryker… Stryker forced her. He said he didn't want us tipping you off."

Erik felt as though he had been hit by a truck. _Stryker_. The man responsible for Erik being held captive for so long.

"Is he here?"

His voice was a rough growl, startling Angel . In the dark recesses of Erik's mind, he felt guilty, but he would have time to deal with that later.

Angel shook her head.

"No. But others of the CIA are. And they know you're here, too."

_Scheiß._


	30. Emma

_So, um, this chapter. Didn't exactly want to be written… and thus needed a TON of encouragement, cajoling, and some bitching to be written. Then, Raven was like… I want a chapter posted before _The Hunger Games_ premieres that has me in it. This was the result. She's not exactly in it for more than like… three paragraphs, but it does do some vital setting up for the next chapter, where she will play a hopefully bigger role._

_Though, in consolation, I did give you lots of sarcastic, albeit slightly damaged, handsome, smirking Charles. And some foreshadowing… And some very, very, very extreme artistic liberties._

_And since I didn't have time to respond to everyone's reviews via PM… here are my responses._

_Special thanks to _hachoo_ for your really awesome review and for giving up on doing homework to read this story. I understand where you're coming from, both in the homework corner, and in the decent story corner. I'm glad you consider this to be one of the good ones. Also, to Luthien Potter—you made me really happy. The fact that you only got three hours of sleep before doing a rather dangerous job because you were reading my story means the world to me. And I'm glad to hear we have similar interests! : ). It's always nice to find a fellow fandom lover. To TristeAlma—thank you for reviewing! Sorry for not updating sooner… life got in the way. _

_And to the ever faithful Haylia Jones and The Singing Duck, who have been here since the beginning: You two are amazing. I love you dearly. I'm glad you're enjoying the chapters I am sporadically giving you. You make my life. : ). And The Singing Duck, you're right not to be as hopeful as Raven, as you soon will see. _

_Now, for the moment you all have been waiting for…_

**The Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 30: Emma**

Despite the fact that Raven hadn't truly spoken to her brother in over two months, she still knew him well enough to figure out that there was something very wrong with him. It wasn't the way Charles ignored Erik—which was so completely out of character for him that Raven couldn't even begin to understand what the hell was going through his mind. It wasn't the way Charles used his powers to heavily influence the doctors and nurses to get his way in the hospital, which again, was ridiculously abnormal for him. Hell, it wasn't even the cold, uncaring way in which he acted toward Sean.

It was simply the way Charles didn't look at her. Charles had this look he used only for Raven. It was a soft, tender expression, filled with love and brotherly admiration, often tinged with a hint of exasperation, and occasionally pity and guilt and other emotions Raven couldn't even begin to guess at. The look was visible every time he looked at Raven, no matter what. Even when he had been bleeding in the sand on that cursed beach in Cuba, Charles still gave her _that_ look.

Call her shallow, but the absence of _that_ look was the only thing that really alerted Raven to the fact that something was wrong with him. In fact, with the time she spent split between the hospital and with Hank in the hotel room, Raven barely even noticed the other signs.

It took Raven three weeks to realize that the person inhabiting Charles' body was no longer her brother.

By that time, it was far too late.

* * *

><p>Honestly, Charles should have known better than to go wandering off in the middle of a crowd by himself, especially with his defenses practically gone, and his ability null in the middle of such an event. The last time he had done something this momentously stupid, he had wound up with a bullet in his back.<p>

He had gone maybe thirty yards away from Erik when his mind locked on to Emma's. It helped that she was broadcasting her thoughts so loudly that anyone with even a tenth of Charles' ability could read her mind loud and clear.

_Run away, little telepath. It's not safe for you here._

As if he hadn't already guessed that, and more, from the thoughts in Erik's mind about the caliber of mutants here in Texas. They weren't exactly Shaws-in-training—they were far too simple-minded for that—but they weren't human-friendly, either.

_Emma, dear, don't you know that I never do what's safe?_

Charles sent her a mental smile that contained much more bravado than he felt. While he couldn't read exactly what was happening here—there was something far more powerful than telepathic abilities blocking Emma's memory cortex—he was intelligent enough to guess.

_The CIA has plans to capture you and kill our mutual friend._

_And why, pray tell, would they ever want me?_

Sarcasm was an art form Charles had perfected long before he had ever met Erik, but the metal bender had done little to hinder its progress.

_Because they know that if they capture you, then they would successfully end the mutant rebellion. You've made some pretty powerful enemies, sugar._

Charles sighed.

_You really do give me too much credit, darling. _

He had walked—okay, stumbled—a few more yards during their conversation, far enough that he could easily spot her amongst the scores of other people pushing against each other, searching for a spot that would give them an easy view of the President.

Emma turned, a smile gracing her stunning face as she locked eyes with him.

_Do I? From what I've seen, your little ducklings don't fare too well without you to guide them. Honestly, you should have seen Magneto struggling to get by without you. It was like watching a fish out of water._

Memories, sharp and pointed, from the time after Cuba, forced their way into Charles' mind. Bitterness and hatred darkened and twisted every single one of them, though it wasn't always Emma's emotions coloring the haunting images.

Erik, naturally, starred in all of them. He was cruel and cold, quick to anger, and quicker to turn to violence. More than once, Emma's projected memories replayed a fight he and Raven had had, which had ended in punches and death threats.

It was nothing Charles hadn't already seen in Erik's mind, despite how hard the latter man tried to conceal them. It was near impossible to hide things from a telepath.

However, the blow Emma delivered was still harsh and left Charles reeling. He stumbled a few feet backward, his fingers going to his temple in effort to block his mind.

Emma retreated from his mind with a bitter smile.

_Sorry, sugar, but it's for your own good. The sooner you develop a sense of self-preservation and get the hell out of here, the better off you and your little flock will be._

Charles shook his head, vainly attempting to clear his mind of the memories, and failing admirably. The image of Erik's face, twisted in anger and self-hatred, was seared onto the back of his eyes, so that every time he blinked, he saw it.

He swallowed heavily and attempted to recover some form of confidence, no matter how forced.

_Why are you trying so hard to save me?_

Emma's bitter smile disappeared, leaving her expression carefully blank.

_A Magneto with a dead telepath is like a planet without the sun—spinning violently out of control and crushing everything in it's path. Honestly, it's not you I'm trying to save. If you die, then I'm first on Magneto's list of people to kill, simply because I'm here today._

Emma's ability to think only of herself had to be some strange, bizarre mutation of her telepathy. Like Charles' sarcasm, it was an art form she had developed to perfection.

_Your vanity will get you killed one day, dear._

_And your save-the-world complex will kill you today, sugar, if you don't leave._

They stood stock still for a minute, staring each other down.

Charles pressed his fingers a little harder into his temple, attempting to focus his telepathy on her mind, to read her true intentions. For all of her concern about him—even if, in the end, it was just for herself—there was still something not quite true about the way her voice rang in his mind.

_I wouldn't do that if I were you, sugar. I have strict orders to wipe your mind if you probe too deep._

_I wouldn't do _that_ if I were _you_, dear. I am much more powerful than you remember._

It was an almost blatant lie—Charles couldn't remember a time in recent memory that he ever felt weaker.

Rescuing Erik and Raven from the CIA had taken a lot more out of him than he would have liked to admit. It was startling evident in the way he could barely focus in the large crowd, something he had been able to do with ease since he was eleven. Her mind, which Charles had been in on multiple occasions and thus should have had an easier time accessing, was almost impossible to enter. It was almost as though there was a large, glass barrier, smooth and impenetrable, that separated her mind from his.

_There is._

Charles blinked at Emma's sudden thought projection, which broke his concentration entirely. He mentally growled at himself for being so weak.

_What do you mean?_

His desperation leaked into her mind, which caused the smirk on her face to widen considerably, into a feral grin.

_Stryker has paid me a good deal of money to test a telepathic drug designed not to limit my powers, but to keep others from breaking into my mind. As you can see, it works fairly well._

It was impossible, but it would explain a great deal, especially about how Charles was entirely unable to read Stryker's mind. At first, he had thought it was some genetic mutation, but now, it made perfect sense.

So did something else, Charles realized with stunning clarity.

_And the side effects?_

Emma blinked, her smirk faltering ever so slightly.

Charles pressed on, not giving Emma the chance to reply.

_Stryker enhanced the drug so he can control mutants, didn't he? Of course he did. He wouldn't want his precious pet telepath running amok with all of those important matters of national security you undoubtedly uncovered in the minds of the CIA agents you work with._

Emma's face darkened and her smirk turned into a scowl.

_You don't know anything._

Charles shook his head.

_I know enough, sweetie. _

She stepped forward, anger radiating off her in such strong waves that Charles was nearly thrown backward.

He held up his free hand to stop her.

_Look around. _

Emma froze, blinking once more, and coming back to herself as she realized the same thing Charles had.

They were surrounded by humans, all of whom were openly staring at the telepaths. There was a young girl, barely over the age of ten, who was wide-eyed and fearful as she gazed at Emma.

While the humans didn't concern Emma in the same way they did Charles, they were enough of a deterrent for her to stop an outright physical attack. It would have drawn too much attention to her, and to the facts that mutants existed, two things that she obviously was trying to hide at the moment.

Emma glared.

_The CIA is going to kill Magneto. _

_Why do you care so much? You've changed sides, which to Erik, means that you're nothing more than Shaw. And you saw how well that turned out._

Charles wasn't cruel by nature, but he couldn't help but project the image of a coin digging through Shaw's skull into Emma's mind, because he couldn't stop it either.

Emma remained motionless, though her blue eyes widened ever so slightly.

_I don't care, sugar._

A snort pushed passed Charles' lips before he could contain it, drawing more curious glances, and more than one reproachful, from the humans around him.

_You do. Maybe not about me or Erik, but about being labeled a traitor. Because you know, if you do this, then that's what others of our kind will call you. You will be an outcast._

Emma shook her head.

_I don't care about that. Being a rebel doesn't mean anything. There's no power in that. You and your precious Magneto showed me that. All it ever gets you is enemies._

_And you think the CIA is going to gain you friends?_

_It already has, Xavier._

Her wide-eyed look had disappeared, replaced by the smirk Charles knew all too well. It was her bold, daring expression, that usually preceded something very bad for Charles.

At that moment, three things happened simultaneously. One, was the sudden appearance of eight men in black suits, all carrying guns. Second, was Erik, who was standing beside Angel. And third, the presidential parade had begun.


	31. Chaos Reigns

_Short chapter this time... but hopefully you'll enjoy it._

_Just a point of interest: Raven's point of view goes back to about a week after Charles wakes up in the hospital. We'll get back to the foreshadowing point from the last chapter in the next chapter. _

_Also… this chapter is more focused on the events in Texas… which, is turning out way better than I hoped. : ). You all should be very nervous right about now…. Hehehehe. _

**The Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 31: Chaos Reigns **

Sean was the first one to notice that something was wrong with Charles, which honestly, should have told Raven that she should spend more time paying attention to what was going on at the hospital and less time worrying about whether Hank was going to be seen in their hotel room.

"I don't know what's wrong with him, Raven. He's just not himself."

Raven brushed it off.

"He just spent two months in a CIA prison, Sean. Of course he's not himself."

It was a week after Charles had woken up, around midday. Charles was currently sleeping while Raven and Sean conversed softly over cheeseburgers that she had brought with her to the hospital. Sean was almost ready for release while Erik remained the same. Charles was the main point of concern.

Sean shook his head, grimacing.

"You don't get it. When you're not here, he's _not himself_. I can't explain it… but he's scary."

Raven sighed. She had learned long ago how to deal with Sean when he got into one of his paranoid moods, but that didn't mean she wanted to deal with it now.

"He's just recovering from whatever they did to him. He'll be fine."

Sean didn't look convinced, but finished his cheeseburger in silence.

Raven finished hers more slowly while turning the conversation with Sean over in her mind. Sean considered Charles to be one of his heroes, or at the very least, a father figure. There was no reason for Sean to suddenly be afraid of him.

_Unless_, a small voice in Raven's mind said. _Unless there _is_ something wrong with Charles._

She shoved the thought out of her mind. Sean was crazy. Charles would be fine. Wouldn't he?

* * *

><p>Loud music began playing from a small orchestra on the other side of the street as the president's car slowly began its drive down the street. Erik could feel the metal in the instruments as he glanced around the crowd, looking for Charles and Emma. He froze as he spotted both of them nearby, locked in a staring contest. From the way Charles had his fingers pressed to his temple, there was a battle of wills going on.<p>

For the first time in his life, Erik felt grateful for the large crowd, glad that it gave some small advantage to Charles. There was no way Emma could shift into her diamond form and block the other telepath.

But then, Charles turned, and his horrified blue eyes locked onto Erik's, and the metal bender knew that there was something very, very wrong.

Erik was distantly aware that Angel was saying something, an apology of some sort. Then, his head exploded in a world of pain and he sank to the ground with a growl.

"_NO!_"

Charles' shout—both mental and physical—rang out loud and clear over the cacophony caused by the band and the cries of surprise and alarm that started when Erik fell to his knees.

Erik tried to respond, tried to say _something_ that would reassure his friend that he was all right, but found himself entirely unable to move. Something—or some_one_—had taken over his mind, forcing all thoughts and actions out of his mind, and replacing them with nothing but _pain_. It felt as though someone had lit his brain on fire.

Something that might have been a whimper crossed Erik's lips as the burning agony suddenly intensified. He closed his eyes and fought to concentrate on breathing, on anything that would take his pain away.

_You can't escape _me_, sugar._

Emma's voice was ice cold and resonant in his mind, adding the sensation of someone driving icy metal pikes through his skull to go along with the burning feeling.

Erik longed to respond, to say something witty, to snarl angrily at her, to do _anything_ to fight back against what was happening, but he couldn't get past the constant _pain_ in his mind.

Suddenly, Erik's agony eased considerably. He could still feel it, like a molten mass in the corner of his mind just waiting to erupt again, but it no longer consumed him.

Cautiously, Erik opened one eye, both unsurprised and slightly alarmed to find Charles standing over him. The telepath had his eyes clenched shut, his face contorted in pain, and his fingers were driven so hard into his temple it was certain to leave a bruise.

Around them, the crowd was completely frozen. The president was stopped mid-wave a few feet away, completely obsolete in that moment. It was as though the entire world had been reduced to Erik, Charles, and Emma. Even the CIA agents were stock still, their hands reaching for their guns.

_Are you all right?_

Charles' voice sounded strained in Erik's mind.

_I'm fine. Are you?_

It was a lie—Erik felt like his mind had been split open and he couldn't help the violent tremors that wracked through him.

_I'm fine._

The words were curt and tight, betraying Charles' lie more so than his facial expressions. But before Erik had the chance to respond, Emma let out a chuckle.

"Cute."

Charles grimaced.

"I'm not going to let you attack the innocents."

Their conversation was pushed to the back of Erik's mind as he realized that Emma wasn't paying him any attention at all. It wasn't that he wanted her to—he was happier with things the way they were—but it just seemed odd, almost as though she still believed him to be frozen.

_She does._

Charles' mental projection seemed fuzzy, now, as though he was having problems projecting.

Erik blinked and looked at him in confusion.

_Why?_

Charles didn't respond. Blood began dripping out of his nose, slowly at first, but gradually getting stronger and faster. Erik couldn't pretend that he wasn't alarmed, but Charles was ignoring him.

A thought hit Erik so sharply it felt as though a lightning bolt had hit him. This was all in efforts to protect _him._ The frozen time, the way Emma couldn't see him… all of it.

Emma let out another laugh, more of an evil crow than a joyful noise.

"You know some good tricks, little telepath, but you're not as strong as I am. It's only a matter of time before you're forced to end this little charade of yours, and it will all be for nothing. I will kill Erik and you won't be able to stop it."

Charles smiled serenely, though there was an unmistakable edge of danger in the way he locked eyes with Emma.

"You don't know what I'm capable of."

A fleeting look of fear crossed Emma's face, before settling into a cold mask of indifference.

"Then why don't you show me, sugar?"

Charles shook his head.

"In your dreams, sweetheart. For now, I just want to talk to you, here, where you can't hurt anyone in case you get… unpleasant."

Erik heard the effort it took for Charles to keep his voice even, saw the effort it took for his friend to just stay standing.

_Charles, you have to stop this._

Charles was stubbornly silent, locked in his test of wills with Emma.

Emma arched an eyebrow.

"And what makes you think I want to talk to you? I can just as easily snap this little mind game and kill Erik."

"Then why don't you?"

The woman laughed.

"Because where would the fun in that be?"

Charles smirked.

Erik sent another thought at his friend, louder this time.

_Please, Charles. This is going to kill you._

"You really need to work on your lying, dear. You're just not convincing enough."

His voice shook violently, betraying to Emma just how much the effort was costing him.

Erik had had enough.

_Charles, I know how much this means to you but you are going to _die. _For god's sake, just let the woman go. I'll kill her myself!_

The words were an echo of what Charles had told him that fateful night where they first met each other. It was Erik's last hope for breaking through to the telepath.

It worked, but what Charles told him made Erik wish it hadn't.

_I can't, Erik. The second I let her go, she is going to erase your mind. You'll be _gone_, Erik, and I can't stop her. I can't save you._


	32. Onslaught Rising

_For about the next month (or longer), I'm going back to my Tuesday/Friday update schedule. I have enough pre-written stuff once more to do this. Hope you all don't mind. : ) _

_This chapter's pretty short again… but there's lots of action and some depressed Sean in here… so it's all good. …Of course, there's also a pretty intense cliffhanger too… Mwhahahahahahaha…. _

_Thanks for all of the lovely reviews. I adore you all. : ). _

_So, FanFiction has decided it hates me, so it is randomly deleting some of the things I update 12 hours after the fact... and then randomly reuploading them. I apologize for those of you who were unable to read the last chapter because of this. Also, I didn't get emails about some of your amazing reviews because, once again, FF hates me, so if I didn't respond, it's not because I hate you. It's because I didn't get the email and didn't even realize that I had new reviews until this afternoon._

**The Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 32: Onslaught Rising**

Two weeks later, Raven regretted her thought. It was obvious now that there _was_ something wrong with her brother, something that went beyond the CIA imprisonment.

She had just gotten to the hospital when she heard Charles yelling at someone.

Dropping the take-out cartons from the local Chinese place, Raven dashed down the hall and around the corner, stopping dead when she saw Sean coming out of Charles' room.

"What happened?"

The words fell out in a harsh demand.

Sean looked at her, his face downcast.

"I don't know. I was asking him when he thought Erik was going to wake up and then he started yelling at me."

Raven's heart went out to Sean and she rested a hand on his shoulder.

"I'll talk to him. See what happened. He's probably just worried about Erik."

By the look on Sean's face, it was obvious he didn't believe that lie anymore than Raven did. He, of course, knew all too well what happened when Charles lost control. He had been there after Cuba.

Sean sighed.

"I just want him to be okay."

The soft admission almost broke Raven's heart. She understood where he was coming from—she had tried living in a world where Charles wasn't all right. It hadn't been a pleasant experience.

"He will be."

She just hoped that her promise came true.

Sean nodded glumly before leaving. He had been released from the hospital a few days prior and was now heading back to the hotel to entertain Hank.

Raven waited until Sean disappeared around the corner before taking a deep breath and stepping inside the room.

Charles was sitting in a wheelchair underneath one of the windows. He had been in a wheelchair ever since he woke up—Hank's miracle cure had worn off a long time ago, leaving him paralyzed once more from the waist down. Hank couldn't do anything about it, either, because it would be almost impossible to explain to the doctors why exactly Charles was suddenly walking again.

Raven was suddenly anxious—what if Charles started yelling at her, too? She had never been able to handle his anger well, for he so rarely got upset with her in the first place.

"I know you're there, Raven."

He sounded completely exhausted, as though yelling at Sean had taken what little energy and strength he had regained over the past few weeks.

Raven crossed the room and stood behind him.

"Why were you yelling at Sean?"

Charles shook his head, still not looking at her. Something outside in the parking lot or the country road beyond had captured his attention and didn't plan on releasing it anytime soon.

Raven waited for a moment for her brother to respond. When he didn't, she pressed on.

"He thinks there's something wrong with you."

In the reflection in the glass, Raven could see Charles' raised eyebrow.

"And what do you think?"

She sighed heavily and plastered a smile on her face.

"I always think there's something wrong with you, Charles. You're my brother."

Her humor received no response other than a gentle sigh.

"Raven, if you don't mind, I would rather be alone."

There was an undercurrent of persuasion in his voice. It wasn't powerful enough to actually force Raven to leave, but it was strong enough to make her want to.

"Don't do that to me, Charles. You need me."

He let out a faint, disbelieving chuckle.

"I need _you_? That's a laugh."

The harshness in his voice startled Raven.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Charles' face contorted into a twisted smile that didn't suit him at all.

"It means that I don't need you, Raven. You, or anyone else, for that matter. I am perfectly fine on being on my own."

That brought a dark laugh to Raven's own lips.

"Yeah, because that worked out so well for you the last time."

It was a low blow, bringing up Cuba in such a manner, but she wasn't about to take it back. She needed some sort of sign that her brother was still in there somewhere, and not completely replaced by whatever this was.

Charles shook his head.

"I was a different person then. I'm better now, stronger. I can handle being on my own."

He sounded so detached, so unemotional about the one event that was almost guaranteed to bring at the very least a grimace to his face under any other circumstances, that Raven immediately knew that something was wrong.

"Who are you?"

Another cold laugh filled the hospital room.

"You haven't figured that out by now?"

Raven was trembling violently. Somewhere, deep in her mind, a faint memory was stirring. It was what she referred to as the Dark Days of her childhood, back when Charles had spent so much time in the hospital. When he came back, he was always dark and moody, refusing to talk to her. There was a memory, hidden underneath the surface of the rest, that she had all but forgotten.

Charles had received a concussion and spent two days in the hospital. When he had gotten home, it was like he was a completely different person. He had been unusually quiet, and when he did speak, it was often words of anger that frightened Raven. He was also more liberal with his abilities, especially reading Raven's mind, which was something he had promised never to do.

At one point, she had slipped into Charles' room after he was asleep to make sure he was all right. He had murmured a word in his sleep. One single word that came to the forefront of Raven's mind now.

"Onslaught."

She whispered it in fear, knowing exactly what it meant now.

Charles, or rather Onslaught, grinned.

"Hello, dear."

And everything went black.

* * *

><p>Another shudder ripped through Charles' shoulders as he fought to keep control of his telepathy. It was slowly draining away the longer he held the time freeze and the illusion that Erik was frozen while simultaneously attempting to break into Emma's mind. He knew he couldn't last much longer—it would eventually kill him—but Charles was terrified of what would happen if he let go.<p>

Emma would kill Erik. That much, Charles knew for certain. That alone was enough to keep him stubbornly rooted to the spot, despite the frantic protestations from Erik raging in his mind.

_God damn it, Charles, let go!_

The words threw Charles down memory lane, unexpectedly bringing up the last time Charles had been in such close contact with Erik's mind for so long. The image of Shaw's submarine floated through Charles' head, momentarily distracting him.

That was all it took. One miniscule distraction and all of Charles' efforts were ripped apart.

Time was released, causing an explosion of thoughts, emotions, and pure noise to crash over Charles' mind, effectively rendering his power useless. His concentration was gone and he had no energy left.

Behind him, Erik let out a shout of pain as Emma renewed her attack on his mind. Charles felt something break inside of him as he tried to reach his power and failed.

A black object caught his eye, sticking out of the pocket of one of the CIA agents. It was a gun.

A plan clicked into place inside of Charles' mind as he stumbled toward the agent, falling to the ground as his knees gave way.

Black spots dotted his vision as he pulled himself forward. He could feel Erik's pain through their mental link as Emma ripped into the metal bender's mind. It was the only thing that kept Charles from giving up.

He had reached the CIA agent. With the last vestiges of his mental strength, Charles managed to make the man forget the telepath was there and grabbed the black object.

The world seemed to go in slow motion as Charles shifted his weight and focused his gaze on Emma. He raised the gun and fired.


	33. An Act of War

_There's a new oneshot that's set kind of in the Perks verse if you want to read it. It's called Never An Option... _

_We go back to Dreamland in this chapter! Actually, this chapter has a lot of everyone in it… so, please pay attention to line breaks, for they will signal POV changes as well as scene changes as well as time changes, per usual. _

_Thanks for all of your lovely reviews! You all are amazing._

**The Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 33: An Act of War **

Charles was missing.

Erik wasn't sure what happened—one second, he was trying to help his friend up the steps and into the dream-version of the Westchester mansion, the next, Charles was _gone_ and Erik was somewhere entirely different.

He didn't recognize it, at first. It had been so long since he had ever been there that he, in all honesty, had forgotten about its existence.

It was his old home in Poland, from back before the war, before his mutation, before all of it.

There was something different about the small, modest building. Something _off_. It wasn't the cracked and peeling paint on the shutters or the window broken by a baseball. It wasn't even the general lack of homely feel—those had all been there before.

Erik took a step forward, surprised at how difficult it was for him to approach the one place as a child he had ever felt safe. Memories he didn't even know he still had pooled in the forefront of his mind as he approached the front door. Memories from his childhood, happy and innocent.

A lone tear escaped from the confines of his eyes before Erik could stop it. He wiped it away vigorously, feeling a sense of embarrassment. He was supposed to be looking for Charles, not getting lost in old memories that were tainted by pain and heartache.

He had just reached the front door when an overpowering metallic tang hit him. _Blood_. Erik would recognize that stench anywhere.

Slowly, Erik reached for the front door knob, but the door opened on its own accord. The scent of blood grew stronger as he cautiously stepped through the front door.

Horror crashed over him as he entered the house. The walls of his childhood home were painted with blood. Two bodies were on the floor.

Erik took a couple of shaking steps forward and crouched down beside the bodies. He was appalled to find one was his mother.

The other was Charles'.

No sooner had the shock of his friend's death registered, the dead Charles opened his eyes.

"You did this. You killed me."

A hand brushed against Erik's shoulder as he fell backward. Alarmed, Erik spun around, the scene around him changing abruptly. The grotesque scene of Charles and his mother's bodies was gone, replaced by the Westchester mansion.

Charles stood over him, concern showing in his eyes.

"Are you all right, my friend?"

Erik closed his eyes, only to open them a heartbeat later when the nightmarish image floated through his mind.

"Did you see that?"

His voice was scarcely recognizable in the harsh growl that came out.

Charles nodded, half-sitting, half-collapsing beside Erik.

"I'm sorry, Erik."

"What was _that_, Charles?"

The telepath was silent for a moment, staring out at the satellite dish in the distance. His face was lined with sadness and guilt.

"Onslaught. He's torturing you, trying to break you."

Erik swallowed.

"Your darker half is a son of a bitch."

Charles let out a sad laugh.

"Yes. And for that, I am truly sorry. You've had some true horrors in your past and it's not fair for you to have to relive them."

Erik shook his head.

"If that's the worst he can do to me, then he's going to have a hard time breaking me."

His voice held a confidence he didn't feel. It was obvious by the look on Charles' face that the telepath didn't believe it either.

"Erik…"

"I'll be fine, Charles."

Charles sighed and placed a gentle, yet surprisingly steady hand on Erik's shoulder, gripping it tightly.

"I think, for now, it's best if we don't sleep and don't let our guard down. Onslaught's only dangerous if he can get inside our minds."

It was a bad plan. Though Erik didn't know much about the dreamland they were in, he highly doubted they would be able to go for very long without sleeping. And with Onslaught controlling everything they saw and did, then it would be practically impossible not to do something he wanted.

Though, it was better then nothing, which was what Erik had.

Still, he couldn't quite shake the feeling that something bad was about to happen.

* * *

><p>The pain vanished from Erik's mind as though it had never been there in the first place. In its stead was a cacophony of terrified screams and yelling.<p>

He opened his eyes, horrified to find Charles sprawled on the hot cement, unconscious, with blood pouring out of his nose. A gun lay a few inches away from his right hand.

Emma Frost was dead, a bullet wound in the middle of her forehead.

Before Erik was ever fully conscious of his decision to move, he was beside Charles, desperately checking for a pulse. Time seemed to be moving backward and terror threatened to consume him at the thought that the telepath might be dead, killed trying to protect Erik.

"Don't do this, Charles. Don't you dare let her win."

Erik's voice was harsh and frantic, words falling so quickly out of his mouth that he was barely aware of what he was saying and betraying every last one of his emotions. He nearly collapsed in relief when his fingers found the weak, unsteady pulse in Charles' wrist. It was barely noticeable, but it was _there_, and for now, that was enough for Erik.

"Stay with me. Don't give up now."

It took Erik a few minutes to realize the CIA agents had completely disappeared. Upon a wider sweep of the area, he learned why.

Fifty yards away, the president of the United States was dead, shot in the head.

* * *

><p>Raven opened her eyes, knowing instantly that something was wrong.<p>

Sean was standing over her, blood seeping out of his nose. He looked both frightened and concerned.

"Are you all right?"

Raven opened her mouth to reply that she was fine, only to be brought up short by a searing pain in her head.

Her hand went to her head and she was alarmed to find her temple bleeding.

"What happened?"

Sean shook his head and looked grim.

"Charles."

Raven closed her eyes, wondering how on earth she was supposed to explain what had happened to her brother and Sean's idol when she barely understood it herself.

"It wasn't him."

Her words brought a look of doubt to Sean's face.

"Really? Because it certainly looked a lot like him. Sounded a lot like him, too."

"I mean it was him physically, but not mentally."

Sean just stared at her confusion. Clearly, Raven wasn't doing a decent job of explaining it.

She decided that a change in subject was in order.

"What happened?"

Sean shook his head.

"I'm not really sure. You were in here with Charles one moment, and then the next, he's _walking_ out of the hospital room. _Walking_, Raven. I don't know how it happened. He sees me watching him and somehow throws me against the wall and disappears. I came in here and you were unconscious."

Raven bit her lip, struggling not to break down and cry like a little school girl. She needed to be stronger than that, if she stood any chance of getting her brother back.

"Have you called Hank?"

She was surprised at how even her voice was.

There was a moment's hesitation before Sean nodded, looking equal parts guilty and scared.

"He didn't answer."

Which could only mean one thing—Onslaught had gotten to him.

* * *

><p>Screams. Crying. Blinding sunlight. Intense heat, rising from the rock hard ground. Unbearable agony, radiating from his head and back.<p>

Someone was calling his name, pleading for a response. The sound of it was fading in and out, like an out of tune radio.

"Charles! Come on, Charles, don't do this! God damn it, Charles, open your eyes!"

The demand was almost impossible—someone had attached ten pound lead weights to his eyes—but somehow, Charles managed to crack one eye open.

Emma was on the ground a few feet away, blood pooling around her, staining her pristine white clothing. She was dead, killed by the gun Charles had fired.

The crowd around him was screaming in horror, but their attention was focused elsewhere.

Crouched over him in a protective manner, was…

"Erik?"

Good god, was that his voice that came out as a scratchy whisper?

Erik breathed a heavy sigh of relief, looking far too alarmed for Charles' comfort.

"Thank God. I thought you were dead."

Charles had too.

"I'm okay."

It was a lie.

Before Erik had the chance to call him on it, the metal bender was suddenly pulled upward and back by two policemen. Charles barely had the chance to comprehend what was going on before he was subjected to the same rough treatment.

Pain exploded in Charles' body and a whimper passed his lips before he could contain it.

Nearby, Erik was struggling to get away from his captors, but the ordeal with Emma had left him too shaken to fight back properly.

Distantly, Charles knew he should do something, say something, to show that he was all right. But the words died on his lips as a fifth policeman walked over to them.

"You both are under arrest for the assassination of the President of the United States and a CIA agent. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in court of law…"

Horror crashed over Charles as he locked eyes with Erik, reading his own fears written plainly in the other man's gaze. They were the two most well-known mutants in the country because of what happened in Cuba. The wounds were still fresh in many people's minds, even despite the year that had passed since then.

Even though Charles had killed Emma, not the President, the assassination of wouldn't be seen as a coincidence. It would be seen as an act of war.


	34. Running Out of Time

_So, for some reason, my muse had a mental breakdown over this chapter... and didn't want to post it. I swear, it's the first time this has ever happened, and I'm not quite sure why. It was weird and because of that, this chapter's late. I apologize and will try to see to it that this won't happen again. _

_Also... I was in the land of limited/no Internet connection... so I apologize once more for not posting this chapter!_

_As a major apology... I shall be updating three times this week... once today, once tomorrow, and once on Friday (just to get things back on schedule)._

**The Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 34: Running Out of Time**

The world turned into a dazzling display of bright lights and rainbow colors, all the while spinning violently. Erik felt as though he were going to be sick, and distantly wondered if that was possible here.

He looked for Charles, half expecting this to be some sort of further torture from Onslaught, but the telepath was half-sitting half-slumped against a wall barely an arm's length away, looking green.

Erik reached out and gently placed his hand on Charles' shoulder.

"Are you all right?"

Charles gave a half-shrug, which was more honesty than Erik had been expecting.

"It'll pass. Whatever Onslaught's using, it's having some effect on me, but not to the extremes he's experiencing."

Erik blinked, not sure if he heard that right.

"Come again?"

Charles grimaced.

"This insanity isn't Onslaught's doing. At least, not deliberately. He's either drunk or high, to have lost this much control over us."

Erik stared. He had never actually considered the effects of alcohol and drugs on his powers, or Charles' for that matter. He did remember that one time after Cuba, where alcohol seemed to increase Charles' powers, but practically destroyed the man's control.

"Is this what it's always like for you?"

Charles let out a laugh that came out more as a sad chuckle.

"No. But I've had years to build up a tolerance for it. Onslaught's had at most a few weeks, and even then, it's probably only been a few days. I expect he spent some time locked in the hospital before he finally gave up the pretense of being me."

Their world shuddered violently and then settled back into the serene calm of the Westchester mansion. Erik took that to mean that Onslaught was probably asleep or Charles had somehow interfered with the dreamland.

Charles let out a soft, weary sigh.

"I'm sorry about this. For dragging you into this, for what Onslaught's doing to you… all of it."

Erik shook his head.

"This isn't your fault, Charles."

"Actually, this is the one thing that can truly be deemed as my fault. He is me, after all."

"No. He's not."

Charles glanced sideways at Erik and shook his head.

"You can color it anyway you want, Erik. But whatever Onslaught does, I'll hold myself responsible. Because I could have stopped him and I didn't."

"Why?"

Charles gave a one-shouldered shrug, wincing as the effort obviously pained him.

"I thought, at the time, it was the only way to survive. I had the lives of thousands of mutants' in my grasp and without Onslaught, I would have killed every single last one of them, instead of the thirty-three I couldn't save."

Erik closed his eyes again, taking a deep breath, before exhaling loudly.

"How long do you think it will be before you can face him again?"

Charles bit his lip and looked away.

"I don't know. Maybe a couple of days, maybe a couple of weeks, possibly never. It depends on him. And, in part, it depends on you."

Erik raised an eyebrow.

"Why me?"

Charles was silent for a moment. When he spoke again, he spoke to his knees.

"You can't be here when I face him. There's no telling what will happen and I don't want you caught in the crossfire."

Erik opened his mouth to protest, to claim that together they could face Onslaught and defeat him, but stopped. He had no real power here. His metal wielding ability was useless against the overwhelming power of the telepath's mind. Sheer physical strength wasn't important here either. He realized that in the battle between Charles and Onslaught, Erik would be a liability, someone that Charles had to waste effort protecting.

It went against all of Erik's instincts to agree with Charles, but in the end, he knew it was the right thing to do. If his being there came down to Onslaught using him against Charles, then Erik would rather not be in there.

"Okay."

Charles looked momentarily relieved by Erik's agreement, before his expression turned pensive.

"We need to get you out of here. Back into your own mind."

It was something both of them had mentioned in passing, but Erik had never really given much thought to. He didn't understand how he came to be here in the first place, much less how he would ever get back into his own body. In all honesty, Erik didn't really expect to survive this encounter in Charles' mind.

But now, it was the only thing Erik _could _think about.

"How?"

Charles grimaced.

"I have a plan, but you're not going to like it."

"What is it?"

Charles told him. The telepath was right—Erik hated it, for it called for way too much sacrifice on Charles' already weakened abilities.

When the metal bender pointed this out, Charles merely shook it's head.

"It's the only option we have. If it fails…"

He trailed off, having no need to finish the sentence. Erik understood all too well what would happen if they failed. He would be erased, simple as that. His body would continue to live on, but without his mind, it was useless. He would be gone.

Erik looked at Charles and plastered something akin to a smile on his face.

"Then we won't fail."

* * *

><p>The mansion was silent when Raven woke up. She could immediately tell that Charles wasn't there—there had always been an unnatural stillness to the large house whenever her brother wasn't at home—and upon further inspection, she discovered that Hank and Erik were missing as well.<p>

Sean was in the kitchen, staring at the empty cabinets with dissatisfaction on his face when Raven hopped in, balanced precariously on her crutches.

The ginger turned at the sound of the crutches, his dissatisfied expression turning carefully blank when he saw who it was.

Raven sighed.

"Hey."

Sean studied her for a moment, his blue eyes calculating and showing far more intelligence than Raven though possible.

"You okay?"

His concern was surprising, to say the least. After leaving Cuba with Erik, she had expected much more hostility. Clearly, whatever hatred Sean and Hank held for Erik didn't extend to her.

Raven shrugged one shoulder.

"I've been better."

Sean nodded, accepting the answer for what it was.

"I'm sorry for what Stryker did to you. You didn't deserve that."

His tone implied that she deserved some form of punishment for what she had done, but that was okay. Raven knew that it was the truth. She had been punishing herself for leaving Charles behind since she left him in Cuba.

"Thank you for rescuing me."

Sean quirked a smile.

"It was fun."

Raven didn't doubt it.

They stood there in an awkward silence, before Raven blurted out the words that had been on the tip of her tongue since she had seen Sean.

"I'm sorry about Alex."

Sean visibly swallowed and looked away, turning back to the cabinets that held nothing.

"It was harder for Charles."

It was hard for everyone, Raven knew, maybe even harder for Sean than he was willing to admit. He and Alex had become close during the months leading up to Cuba, and Raven could only begin to imagine the bond they must have had afterward.

"It still sucks."

Sean looked back at her, gratitude visible in his eyes. Raven offered him a smile, which he was quick to return.

After that, conversation flowed easier, reminding Raven all too much of what she had been missing the entire time she had been with Erik. Sure, she had had the opportunity to fight back against a world that hated and feared her, but it was a lonely existence. Erik spent so much time pining over Charles that he barely looked at Raven. None of the other mutants trusted her, either, for they all saw her as the younger sibling of the man they hated. Sean at least had Hank after Alex died, who might not have been the best conversationalist in the world, but at least cared whether he lived or died.

Sean was in the middle of relating to Raven a story about one of Hank's failed experiments that resulted in a fire in the lab, when the phone rang.

It was Hank.

"_I don't have much time, but get to a TV._"

"Beast? What's going on? Where are you?"

Sean's confusion mirrored Raven's own.

"_I don't have time to explain. Just watch the news. It'll explain everything._"

There was a television in the kitchen. Sean turned it on and sat next to Raven, looking anxious.

A newscaster on the screen looked grave.

"It's with a heavy heart that I bring you the news that President John F. Kennedy has been assassinated in Dallas, Texas only minutes ago."

Raven's eyes widened, wondering what this had to do with any of them. Yes, it was a horrible tragedy, but what did it matter to them?

Images from a parade in Texas made their way on screen as the newscaster depicted the events leading up to the president's death.

"It is suspected that there was mutant involvement in the Kennedy's assassination."

Raven's heart froze as an image of Charles and Erik was put up on the screen.

Beside her, Sean went completely still.

"Oh shit."


	35. A Matter of Ideas

_Once more, sorry for the delay!_

_Short chapter this time, but at least you get some snarky Erik and Charles! : ). And some Raven and Hank thrown into the mix for fun. Enjoy! _

**The Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 35: A Matter of Ideas**

It took less than twenty minutes for Raven to explain to Sean about Charles' darker half and for them to realize that Erik's condition might have been caused by Onslaught. It took another five seconds for them to realize that Erik was probably still in danger and thus shouldn't be left unguarded.

Sean elected to stay behind to protect Erik, allowing Raven to go find out what happened to Hank. It wasn't a way of getting out of danger—quite the opposite, really. For all they knew, Onslaught had gone after Hank in efforts to draw Raven and Sean away from Erik so he could come back and finish the job.

Still, it didn't make Raven feel any safer as she stepped out of the cab and slowly walked up the steps to the hotel room.

The door was hanging on one hinge and there was an overall sinister feel to the air. There was a dark stain on the carpet just inside the door, one Raven prayed wasn't blood as she stepped over the threshold.

Inside, it was dark, the only light coming from the open door. It was just enough for Raven to make out Hank's unconscious form propped up against the bed.

"Hank!"

Fear coursed through her as she quickly crossed the small hotel room to get to his side. She searched desperately for a pulse, feeling momentously relieved when she found his heart beating away steadily.

Raven breathed a sigh of release as she leaned her head against the bed and gripped Hank's hand tightly in her own. Whatever her brother's darker half had set out to do, it hadn't been to kill Hank.

A bitter laugh escaped Raven's lips before she could stop it. Was this really what her life had amounted to? Being relieved when her now evil older brother failed in killing her best friend when it meant that he had some darker plot? Said evil older brother, who, barely a month ago, Raven nearly got herself captured and killed trying to rescue?

Hank stirred at the sound of Raven's laugh. He blinked, amber eyes locking on Raven in confusion.

"What happened?"

"I don't know, Hank."

"I remember Charles here… He was walking."

Raven shook her head.

"It wasn't Charles."

Hank sounded frustrated as he replied.

"Yes, it was. I've known him for nearly four years—I know who he is, Raven."

"I mean it _was_, but it wasn't."

That brought the scientist up short. He looked at Raven with a calculating expression on his face, before realization dawned on him.

"Charles has an alter ego."

Raven gaped at him.

"How did you know?"

Hank shrugged.

"I guessed. It's not like Charles to throw me across a room when he doesn't get what he wants."

Raven closed her eyes, guilt flooding through her. This was her fault. She should have figured it out sooner. She should have noticed the signs, should have noticed that Charles wasn't acting like himself. _Sean_ of all people did.

"I'm sorry, Hank."

The scientist shook his head.

"Don't be. There's no way you could have known."

It was a lie. Raven had seen the signs before, she just didn't remember them. Or didn't want to remember them. And now, it was too late.

"What are we going to do, Hank?"

"We have to get Charles back."

He said it so simply and so bluntly, as though it were the only solution in the world.

"How?"

"I have no idea."

* * *

><p>Charles all but fell into Erik when the police officer let him go inside the small jail cell. If it hadn't been for the metal wielder's steadying arms, Charles would have collapsed face first into the floor and probably never would have moved again.<p>

"Easy, Charles. I've got you."

There was a moment of awkwardness between them as Erik maneuvered Charles' limp body as gently as he could to the floor. Charles attempted to help, but it felt as though his muscles had turned to jello in the short ride to the police station, and were now entirely useless.

It was all so surreal, what had happened to them. Charles still couldn't wrap his mind around it—it seemed impossible that the two of them would be blamed for the assassination of the President.

Then again, Erik _had_ sent a thousand missiles toward the US and Russian Navies and Charles did just murder Emma Frost in cold blood, so maybe the assassination charges were a little justified.

Charles leaned his head against the cinderblock wall of their cell, letting out an involuntary groan as the cold rock soothed his blinding headache. His powers were still buried somewhere beneath the monster of a migraine he was sporting, leaving him worse than useless.

Erik stood above him, looking equal parts concerned and horrified. Clearly, he was having trouble understanding what happened too.

"Sit down, Erik. Your looming over me isn't going to help matters."

The metal bender looked as though he were about to refuse the order, but the expression on Charles' face stopped him. Wordlessly, he sat down.

Charles sighed.

"You don't have to treat me like I'm made of glass. I'm perfectly all right."

Erik scowled.

"You were barely breathing half an hour ago. Forgive me if I don't believe you."

"Your mind was almost erased half an hour ago. Forgive _me_ if I think I have a better idea of how I am than you."

They glared at each other, exhausted blue eyes boring into stubborn grey-green. Surprisingly, Erik looked away first.

"I'm sorry."

Charles resisted the urge to smash his head against the wall, only because his head was pounding enough as it was.

"It's not your fault, Erik."

Erik made a noise halfway between a snort and a growl.

"What will it take for you to blame _something_ on me?"

"Something that is entirely your fault that deserves your blame."

"I forced you to kill someone, Charles!"

"You didn't put the gun in my hand, nor did you force me to fire the weapon. I did that on my own."

Erik visibly clenched his teeth together and his knuckles went white. Behind him, the metal on the cell door began to vibrate.

Charles mentally sighed.

"Calm yourself, Erik. There's no need to draw unwanted attention to us."

It appeared as though Charles' words had no effect at first. However, at the sound of footsteps rapidly approaching, the metal stopped humming, and while Erik looked no less tense, he did unclench his fists.

The owner of the footsteps was a police officer, who appeared outside of the jail cell looking both hateful and wary. Upon the realization that nothing was happening, he quickly disappeared.

Charles folded his arms over his chest and fixed his friend with an expression of utmost disapproval.

"That was completely uncalled for."

Erik huffed a bitter laugh.

"You're sounding more and more like a professor every day."

It took every ounce of Charles' willpower not to roll his eyes at the statement, if only to preserve what little dignity he had left.

"Your insults leave something to be desired in the creativity department, my friend."

"Forgive my lack of imagination. It's been a hard day, what with the President assassinated, and my best friend being blamed for it and all."

"I guess I'll have to pardon you just this once, then, because it's been so hectic for you."

Sarcasm dripped off Charles' words like acid, hot and sharp. Erik barely seemed to notice.

"Is it any wonder why I don't like humans? They're so quick to blame us for everything that goes wrong."

Charles wondered when their conversation turned to their age-old argument.

"In their defense, it was a telepath that nearly succeeded in killing you."

Erik looked at Charles, his eyes full of the same darkness and hatred that the telepath had become all too familiar with in the days leading up to Cuba.

"You stand there and defend them, even though they'll execute you for something you didn't do."

"When it's your own race that has caused most of the evil you've seen in this world, you'd fight for the better one too."

By the look on Erik's face, he clearly hadn't expected that response. But before he had the chance to respond, the police officer from earlier came back.

Much to the surprise of both mutants in the cell, he unlocked the door.

"You're free to go."


	36. A Twist of Events

_Lots of dreamland, short bit of Texas stuff. Hope you don't mind. _

**The Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 36: A Twist of Events**

Erik glanced anxiously at Charles.

"Are you sure you're up for this?"

The telepath shook his head.

"I don't have a choice. You need to be back in your own mind."

"That's not an answer, Charles."

"It's the only one I can give you right now, my friend."

Somehow, Charles had managed to get Onslaught back to the hospital. Erik wasn't entirely certain how it all happened, but now, Charles had a tentative grasp on his own mind, enough to do whatever he was planning on doing to get Erik back into his own mind.

Erik wasn't convinced this was the right idea. Scratch that—he knew it was the wrong idea. There was too much risk. Even if Charles succeeded, he would be left in a worse state than he was in right now, making him easy prey for Onslaught. And no matter how much Erik wanted to get back into his own mind, he didn't want to do it at the risk of his friend's life.

Charles had been told this on several occasions since he had told Erik his hare-brained scheme, but the telepath stubbornly refused to listen to reason.

Erik really didn't have a choice in the matter now.

They were perched at the edge of a vast abyss of darkness, surrounded by a thick cloud of fog. Erik didn't quite understand what was going on, only that in a few minutes, he would be back in his own mind.

Charles turned to Erik, looking simultaneously calm and anxious. It wasn't exactly a reassuring look.

"On my signal, jump."

Erik looked at Charles incredulously. Charles stared stonily back.

"Do you trust me?"

"You know I do."

"Then when I say jump, you jump. You're only going to have one chance to do this, Erik, so no matter what happens, you jump."

That sounded way too damn ominous for Erik's liking.

"What exactly is going to happen?"

Charles swallowed.

"With any luck, I'll be able to forge a connection with your mind and when you jump, you'll be jumping back into your own head. With a little help from me, of course."

"That's not what I meant, Charles. What's going to happen to _you_?"

Charles shook his head.

"Don't worry about me."

Dark laughter sounded nearby.

"You're so _cute_, Charlie!"

Erik could feel Charles tense beside him as Onslaught appeared out of the fog.

The darker half looked radically different than the last time Erik had seen him. When they had their first encounter, Onslaught looked the picture of perfect health, whereas Charles had looked like a gust of wind would do him in. Now, Onslaught looked drained and exhausted, with dark bags underneath his red-rimmed eyes and his hair falling in disarray. His clothes were torn, stained with what looked like blood and other things Erik didn't even want to think about.

Charles, on the other hand, looked stronger. He was still shockingly pale and bruised, but he no longer needed to rely on Erik to stand upright.

It gave Erik hope that maybe his friend would win this fight after all.

Onslaught stopped about a yard away from Erik and Charles, just at the edge of the abyss.

Charles slowly rose to his feet, his face carefully blank.

"Onslaught."

The other man shook his head.

"Do you honestly think this little plan of yours is going to work?"

"It's worth a shot."

Onslaught let out a laugh.

"Your unfailing optimism is heart-warming, Charlie. It's also pathetic."

Charles shrugged.

"That's what you make of it."

Onslaught folded his arms over his chest and studied Charles and Erik with a fascinated expression. When he spoke next, he addressed Erik.

"It's shocking, to say the least, that you favor this weaker version of myself over me."

Erik scowled.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Onslaught smiled and shook his head.

"I thought you'd be _relieved_, Erik! Finally, I believe the same things you do! I was going to help you take over the human race and put the rightful mutants in charge!"

Erik snorted.

"Well, locking me inside of your mind kind of puts a damper on our relationship."

Onslaught let out a loud laugh.

"You do have a sense of humor, I'll give you that. It's a shame that I'll have to kill you."

Charles interrupted before Erik had the chance to respond.

"You'll have to go through me, first."

Onslaught looked amused.

"Charlie, you remind me a lot of a homeless puppy. Adorable at first, fun to play with, but riddled with disease. Eventually, it becomes so sick that you have no choice but to put it down."

As he spoke, his genial expression slowly faded into a dark look that bordered on feral. His blue eyes were almost black with hate.

Charles didn't seemed phased by it.

"And you're like a rabid beast that needs to be put down before you infect someone else."

Onslaught cocked his head.

"Well, at least we agree on something, then."

Charles nodded.

"There is that."

They stood there for a moment, staring each other down. Then, suddenly, Onslaught was on his knees, clutching his head.

"Now, Erik!"

The metal bender barely had time to register what Charles had just said before he found himself being shoved sideways, into the abyss.

The last thing he heard was Charles, shouting out in pain, before everything went dark.

* * *

><p>Charles refused to so much as even look at Erik as they made their way through the police station, which was saying a lot, seeing as the only reason why the telepath was upright was because Erik was practically carrying him.<p>

Clearly, Charles had lost his forgiving nature when he lost his ability to walk after Cuba.

Erik wasn't going to apologize for what he believed in, nor did he expect Charles to truly want one. It wasn't as though this difference of opinion was news to either one of them.

Though Erik had hoped that after everything with Shaw and the CIA, and recent events, Charles might be less willing to stand by the humans' blind hatred of the mutants.

They were almost out of the police station when Charles abruptly stopped. Erik looked at him, raising an eyebrow.

"What?"

The telepath shook his head, rubbing his temples.

"I'm not really sure. I thought I just…"

He trailed off with a violent tremble. All of Erik's misgivings about their difference of opinion vanished instantly.

"Charles? What's wrong?"

Before the shorter man could respond, the door to the police station opened, revealing three police officers leading a dark haired man of medium height.

Charles froze, his fingers falling from his temples. The dark haired man looked over at them, his brown eyes widening in shock as they locked onto the telepath.

Charles shuddered again.

"_Cain_."


	37. Anger

_Special thanks to Kuro49 for your extremely long review. That made my entire day and I can't even begin to describe how happy I am that you've enjoyed the story that much. :) _

_Also, thanks to Haylia Jones-I love you too, by the way :D-Luthien Potter-you're welcome!-and hachoo-here's the next chapter-for reviewing! This chapter's for you guys. _

_I apologize ahead of time for the major cliffhanger I leave you guys with. I'm starting to feel a little guilty for leaving you guys with such endings... _

**The Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 37: Anger**

A week passed. Then another.

Soon, a month had gone by and there was no sign of Onslaught or Charles. Erik was still unconscious.

Raven, Hank, and Sean were rapidly running out of ideas and hope. They had no one to turn to, their other mutant followers being too deep in hiding to be of proper help.

Hank was still at the hotel, unable to risk coming to the hospital to help keep watch over Erik. Sean was there, too, in desperate need of shower and sleep. He had been pushing himself too hard, blaming himself about what had happened to Charles.

Raven let out a weary sigh as she once again shifted her weight in the uncomfortable wooden hospital chair. It was frustrating, to say the least, to be stuck here and not out actively searching for Charles.

The door to the hospital room creaked open behind her. Raven jumped up, instantly on her guard, despite her protesting muscles.

Onslaught stood in the doorway, looking absolutely terrible.

Raven folded her arms over her chest.

"If you want Erik, you're going to have to go through me."

The telepath visibly shuddered, his eyes closing for a moment. When he opened them again, it wasn't Onslaught staring back at her.

"_Charles_?"

It was indeed her brother, staring back at her from that gaunt face with the red rimmed eyes and unkempt hair. She could see _that_ look in his eyes, the one she hadn't even realized she was missing until that point.

Charles nodded once, his face scrunching in pain.

"Raven, I don't have much time. When Erik wakes, I need you to get him out of here. Get as far away from here as possible and don't look back."

Dumfounded, Raven could only stare. She had just gotten _Charles_ back and now she wanted him to leave? And Erik was going to wake up?

She opened her mouth to protest, but Charles cut across her.

"Do as I say, Raven, please."

Raven longed to say no, to say that whatever was going to happen, they would face it together, but something told her that wasn't an option.

Instead she nodded once.

"Okay."

Relief flitted across Charles' face quickly, before being replaced by a more tortured expression as he stumbled ungracefully by Raven to kneel by Erik's side. He grasped the unconscious man's wrist and closed his eyes, assuming a look of utmost concentration.

Whatever Raven had been expecting to happen, didn't. There was no brilliant display of lights and color, no loud noises, no anything. Simply one minute Erik was in a coma, and the next, he was shooting straight up with a gasp.

Erik looked at Charles, his confused face turning into one of relief tinged with fear.

Not for the first time since the CIA breakout, Raven wondered what the hell was going on.

Charles didn't give her the chance to ask.

"Raven! Get him out of here!"

Before either Raven or Erik had the chance to so much as blink, Charles collapsed into an ungraceful heap against the wall.

Raven was even aware that she was moving, until Erik's strong arms stopped her from going to her brother's aid.

"Let me go, Erik!"

"You're only going to get yourself hurt, Raven. We need to get out of here."

It sounded as though it physically pained him to say those words

Raven struggled against him.

"No! I don't want to leave him again!"

"You can't help him. He has to do this on his own."

"You might be okay with abandoning him again, but I won't!"

Before Erik had the chance to reply, Raven managed to wriggle out of his grasp.

Slowly, as though she were approaching a wounded animal, Raven approached Charles' near-unconscious form. She could almost feel the pain radiating off him in lethal waves.

She gently placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Charles?"

Charles opened his eyes and in the instant before he lunged, Raven knew that it was Onslaught.

He had tackled her and was reaching for her throat before she even had the chance to react.

* * *

><p>Charles couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't <em>breathe<em> at the sight of his once dead stepbrother being escorted through the police station.

It was impossible. This had to be some sort of trick. Cain was dead. Charles had killed him. There was no way he could be _here_. Not now, not ever.

Somewhere along the way, Charles' abilities kicked in, informing him that his stepbrother was under the name Lee Harvey Oswald, that it was definitely _Cain_, and that he had shot the President.

He heard his name being called from far away and it took Charles a moment to remember that he wasn't alone.

The telepath blinked, feeling as though he were emerging from a dense fog. They were outside of the police station. Charles wondered when that happened.

Erik came into focus, his gray green eyes alarmed.

"Are you with me?"

With a violent mental shake, Charles turned his attention back to Erik, still feeling as though he had been struck by a live wire.

"That was Cain, Erik."

"I gathered that. How is he alive? You told me this morning that…"

_That you killed him_. Charles heard the words as clearly as if Erik had spoken them.

He swallowed.

"I know. I thought I did. But apparently, he's alive."

The thought alone was enough to send shivers down Charles' spine.

Erik shook his head.

"How is that even possible?"

"I don't know."

In all honesty, Charles really didn't remember that much about what happened the night he lost control over his powers. Partly because he had been completely wasted after the track meet, and partly because Charles had blocked that part out of his mind.

Erik sighed.

"Can this day get any worse?"

There were some phrases that should just be erased from the human language.

That was one of them.

Before Charles had the chance to respond, there was a _poof_ and Azazel appeared behind Erik.

The metal bender stiffened as he slowly turned around.

"What do you want?"

Azazel looked impassive as always.

"Ve need to talk."


	38. The Beginning of the End

_They really need to add an automatic update feature to this site..._

_Enjoy this super long chapter! Lots of everyone in here… And what's this? Only a slight cliffhanger? Gasp! I must be losing my edge! _

_As for all of your questions in the last chapter-this one will answer most of them, but there are still a few I'm working on. _

_Hopefully the fight scene in this chapter will make you happy, The Singing Duck! _

_...Oh, and the chapter title is actually the truth... kinda. We have about twenty more chapters left in this story._

**The Perks of Being a Telepath **

**Chapter 38: The Beginning of the End **

One second, it was completely dark and utterly silent.

The next, Charles was aware of screaming, shouting, and the feeling of his hands wrapped around someone else's throat.

It felt empowering, knowing that he had the power of life and death in his hands. He could kill whoever this was with a simple twist of his fingers.

_Finish her off, Charlie. You can do it_.

The sound of Onslaught's evil growl resonating in his mind was more than enough to snap Charles out of the bloodlust that had taken over his mind. He blinked, his vision clearing, and with a sinking feeling of horror, Charles realized that it was Raven he was choking.

He dropped his hands and backed away as Raven fell to the floor, gasping for breath.

"I'm sorry."

Raven looked up at the sound of his horrified whisper, her now yellow eyes wide in terror.

Charles was about to say more when a blinding pain sent him to his knees with a cry of agony.

_Did you really think you could win that easily, Charlie?_

He was no longer in the hospital room—he was once more back at the Westchester mansion. Only it was different, this time. Almost transparent, as though Onslaught was having as much difficulty holding Charles as Charles was holding him.

Onslaught stood a few feet away, looking, for once, confused by what was happening.

Charles didn't give him the chance to get a feel for his surroundings, racing forward and tackling Onslaught to the ground.

The strength and suddenness of Charles' attack caught Onslaught off guard, allowing the former the chance to land a few good punches in before the latter fought him off.

Charles backed off, not wanting to give Onslaught the chance to pin him down.

They circled each other, like to hungry dogs fighting over a scrap of meat. In a way, that analogy was accurate, only instead of meat, it was control over Charles' mind.

Onslaught leered at Charles.

"Give it up, Charlie. You're never going to win this."

"You won't either. Even if you defeat me, you'll never convince Erik and Raven you're me."

"Who says I was going to even try?"

The full meaning of what Onslaught was getting at terrified Charles.

"You're not going to just _kill_ them!"

Onslaught shrugged.

"If they're not with me, then by definition, they're against me."

"I'm not going to let you kill them."

"You don't have a choice."

Charles scoffed.

"You obviously don't know me as well as you think."

Onslaught's eyes widened in mock surprise.

"Don't be absurd. I know you as well as you know me."

_Pain_ exploded in Charles' skull and he sank to his knees with a groan.

Onslaught let out a laugh.

"You see, Charlie-boy, you're not strong enough to win this. You never have been. You know why?"

He took a few steps forward so he was looming over Charles. He leaned down, so his mouth was inches away from Charles' ear.

"You are too weak. You can't do what needs to be done in order to win."

There was a loud shout of pain in the distance, sounding as though it were coming from a long tunnel. With a growing feeling of dread and anger, Charles recognized it as Erik's.

The idea that Onslaught was hurting someone Charles cared about was enough to give him a second wind.

Onslaught's cocky demeanor faltered as Charles swallowed his pain and shakily got to his feet, determined to end this once and for all.

"You think that pain and anger is the way to solve things, but you're wrong."

An image of Erik, trying and failing to lift a submarine with nothing but sheer rage, floated through Charles' mind.

Onslaught let out a laugh, but it was forced.

"Do you remember what happened the last time you tried to convince anyone of that load of nonsense?"

Missiles, flying through the air. A sharp, sting, followed by a deep, overwhelming _agony_ and then _nothing_. Shocked silence.

Charles took a shaky breath.

"None of that would have happened if Erik hadn't let his anger rule him."

Onslaught shook his head.

"Are you really naïve enough to believe that? After everything you've seen?"

_Are you really so naïve as to think they won't battle their own extinction? Or is it arrogance?_

The conversation from so long ago echoed in Charles' mind, and he realized, he finally had an answer for Erik's question.

It wasn't naiveté, nor was it arrogance. It was simply faith that being the better man would pay off. And it did, in the end. Erik had given up his dark past, had given up his _anger_, and had done so much good in the world. While the mutants were still fighting for their survival, they were no longer fighting each other.

Charles shook his head.

"It's because of everything I've seen that makes me believe that anger and pain aren't the answer."

He was abruptly cut off by Onslaught tackling him. Caught off guard, Charles was thrown to the ground, pain spiking in his battered body.

"I'm stronger than you are, Charlie. And when I'm done with you, I'm going to kill your little friends, nice and slow. They're going to die, knowing it was you that killed them."

"You're wrong!"

With something resembling a growl, Charles threw Onslaught off him and rolled to his feet. Already, the darker half was on his feet, getting ready to attack again.

Suddenly, Charles remembered something Erik had thought, before he had been thrown back into his own mind.

Sheer, physical strength was useless here. It was the power of the mind that mattered.

And in the end, Charles knew his powers were stronger than Onslaught's, because he wasn't ruled by the horrors of their past.

Onslaught pounced. Charles closed his eyes, calling on every single ounce of his power left in him.

He felt Onslaught slam into him, shoving him to the ground. Charles' breath caught as he kicked out with his feet, pushing his darker half off him.

A large, swirling vortex had opened up a few feet away from the battling telepaths. Onslaught stood only a foot away from the opening, his eyes wide in horror.

"You wouldn't."

Charles shook his head.

"I'm not as weak as you think I am, Onslaught."

Onslaught paled. Before he had the chance to say anything else, Charles gave him a mental shove with his powers. Onslaught fell into the vortex, which vanished instantly.

Charles staggered, falling to his knees, as the Westchester mansion disappeared. In its place, was the hospital room.

Raven was unconscious against he far wall, blood seeping out of a cut on her forehead. Erik was closer, looking barely conscious. He looked warily at Charles.

"Charles?"

His voice was rough, betraying the pain he was feeling.

Charles nodded, feeling as though he had just had the breath knocked out of him. He had done this. He had caused all of this.

Erik looked relieved and he all but collapsed against the ground.

"It's good to have you back."

He was losing the battle to stay conscious. With a sinking heart, Charles helped him along, not wanting him to suffer anymore on account of him.

There had been too much of that already.

* * *

><p>Charles didn't really remember how they wound up at the airport hangar with Hank and Angel and at this point, it didn't really matter.<p>

It was awkward, to say the least. For one, Hank let out a loud, angry growl upon seeing the two people he disliked the most, and for another, Erik was glaring at the newcomers with an expression of intense dissatisfaction.

Charles closed his eyes and counted slowly back from ten, wishing that his head didn't hurt this much and that he could at least muster up some sort of control over his powers. They kept cutting in and out, like an out of range radio, and it was discomforting, to say the least, to have blissful silence one moment, and then the angry thoughts from the other four people in the hangar invading his mind the next.

When Charles opened his eyes again, Hank had folded his arms across his chest and was glaring, looking so much like Erik in that one moment that it was all Charles could do to keep from laughing.

He mentally sighed as he addressed the two newcomers.

"What do you want?"

If his tone was borderline rude, Charles didn't care. All he really wanted was to sleep, but apparently, that wasn't going to happen anytime soon.

It was Azazel who answered.

"Ve come in peace."

Erik snorted.

"Because you two have such a good track record of _that_."

Charles knew he should have intervened, should have made Erik at least somewhat contrite for that, but he didn't. Erik was right. Rude, yes, but definitely right. And at the moment, the telepath was petty enough to let it go at that.

Angel spoke up.

"We had no idea that Emma was working with the CIA. We honestly thought she was on our side."

Azazel nodded.

"Ve vant to stop fighting."

Hank snorted.

"Yeah. Sure you do."

Erik shook his head.

"If you want to stop fighting so much, why were you here in Texas in the first place?"

The other two mutants' faces went carefully blank at that question. Charles noticed instantly.

"Answer the question."

His soft voice brought startled looks, reminding the two rebel mutants that there was a telepath in the hangar. Granted, Charles was completely powerless at the moment, but Angel and Azazel didn't know that.

Azazel answered.

"Ve heard of ze other mutants and wanted to recruit zem."

"For whom?"

"For ze mutant cause. But we never got ze chance."

"Why not?"

Azazel looked at Angel, clearly uneasy about the next round of answers. Charles didn't need his powers to know that something bad had happened.

"We are not the enemy here. We just want to know what happened."

Erik cast an uneasy glance in Charles' direction, which the telepath studiously ignored. They _weren't_ the enemy.

Azazel let out a weary sigh.

"Emma told us zat you and Magneto vere here."

Glimpses of the beach in Cuba and the CIA prison cells flashed through Charles' mind. Clearly, these two weren't happy that Erik was broken out of the CIA without them, nor were they too happy with Charles for stopping Erik on the beach that day.

Azazel was looking at Charles with a pointed expression on his face. Clearly, it wasn't Erik that these two were holding a grudge against.

Angel was talking again.

"There was another mutant with her. They had a plan to show humans that the mutants were still alive, still fighting, even after the events in Cuba."

Suddenly, it all clicked in Charles' mind.

"You were going to kill the President."

Erik's gaze widened almost comically as he looked away from Angel and Azazel and locked eyes with Charles, obviously coming to the same conclusion.

Angel nodded.

"Yeah. And we were also…"

Her voice trailed off awkwardly, but Charles didn't need to read her thoughts to know the rest. They were going to get rid of Charles, their other enemy, as well as punish Erik for betraying them.

It all made sense. Well, except for the part about Cain being alive and, apparently, a mutant.

The world was spinning angrily once more and it was all Charles could do to keep from falling against the wall.

Erik was talking again.

"So why are you here _now_? Your plan obviously worked, so what do you want with us?"

Evidently, he wasn't too happy about the news either.

Angel shook her head.

"It wasn't _our_ plan, Magneto. We went along with it, but it wasn't until after that we realized that we were forced into it."

Charles blinked. Persuasion hadn't been apart of Emma's ability. She was able to read minds, yes, shift into diamond form, and inflict pain and torture on others, but she hadn't been able to force anyone into it.

Apparently, Angel was more intelligent than Charles gave her credit for, because she followed his train of thought.

"It was the other mutant. He made us do it. He made us want to go along with it."

_That's impossible_, was Charles' first thought, for he knew that Cain hadn't been a mutant. It was part of the reason why Kurt had chosen Charles to inflict his torture on.

Then again, given everything that Charles had learned over the years about genetics and mutations, perhaps Cain was just a late bloomer.

Of course, then again, Cain shouldn't have had the chance to develop a mutation, because he was supposed to be dead.

Charles mentally sighed.

Angel was speaking again, the conversation continuing on while Charles had been momentarily distracted.

"We just want a safe place to hide for a while."

Erik snorted.

"You should have thought of that before you decided to kill the President."

Angel was upset.

"We didn't have a choice, Magneto!"

"You always have a choice!"

"We were influenced by a telepath!"

To be fair, that was a legitimate excuse, though Charles wouldn't technically count Cain as a telepath. He wouldn't technically count Cain as anything until he had the chance to figure out what exactly Cain could do.

Azazel spoke up.

"You know better zan anyone what a telepath is capable of."

He spoke his words to Erik, though his lingering expression of suspicion was cast toward Charles. Charles realized he probably should have felt more offended than he actually did at that implication. It was fair, given the circumstances in which Erik had mysteriously left their little band of rebels and the way Emma had betrayed them all recently.

Hank let out a warning growl.

"The Professor isn't like that."

Angel and Azazel had twin expressions of disbelief on their face, while Erik looked as though he was trying to formulate a response that didn't end in blood and death.

Charles intervened before Erik could finish his train of thought.

"You are always welcome at our mansion."

Hank and Erik looked at him in shock, Angel and Azazel with surprise.

Hank shook his head.

"You can't be serious, Professor!"

Charles understood where the youngest mutant was coming from—after all, Azazel did attempt to kill him in Cuba, and Angel nearly succeeded in killing both Sean and Alex—but at the same time, Charles couldn't turn away someone asking for refuge. Even if it was two people who clearly didn't trust him.

"I assure you, Hank, I'm quite serious."

Erik glared.

"No."

The simple refusal simultaneously amused and infuriated Charles.

"As it is my home, I am at perfect liberty to offer it to whomever I choose."

Erik clenched his jaw and the planes around them rattled ominously. Charles merely stared calmly back at him, unimpressed.

"That is completely uncalled for and you know it."

Something akin to a growl emitted from Erik's chest and he abruptly turned away. The planes stopped vibrating, a fact Charles was grateful for.

He turned back to the other two mutants, who had been watching the exchange with fascinated looks.

"I will never turn away a mutant in need of safety. However, if you are to stay with us, then you are going to have to follow my rules."

Angel looked relieved and immediately nodded. Charles wasn't surprised—she had never had the strongest backbone in the world, and had a history of following others blindly.

Azazel, on the other hand, merely looked unsatisfied. It became clear to Charles that the teleport was only doing this because of Angel. The red mutant clearly didn't trust telepaths, or really anyone for that matter.

Charles let out a weary sigh, too exhausted to deal with yet another mutant with trust issues. Erik was more than enough for one night.

"You don't have to decide now. But whenever you're ready to join us, the mansion will always be open to you."

* * *

><p>When Erik opened his eyes, Charles was gone.<p>

Raven was across the room, slowly getting to her feet. Blood seeped from a cut on her forehead.

She let out a hoarse cough that made Erik wince, looking around. Her eyes settled on Erik, unasked questions shining in her eyes. Erik didn't need to be a telepath to know what those questions were.

"He's gone."

Erik whispered the words, not wanting them to be true. They had just gotten the real Charles back… and now he was gone. Vanished, into thin air.

Raven looked as though she had just been struck.

"He can't be!"

"He is."

Numb disbelief was replacing Erik's shock, making him sound emotionally detached. He couldn't get beyond the fact that Charles had just _left_. It wasn't right—it wasn't what Charles did. He stayed to fix things—Erik was the one who ran when things got too damn hard.

Raven shook her head.

"You're wrong."

She got up and stormed out of the now destroyed hospital room, obviously determined to go find her brother and prove Erik wrong. The metal bender wished that she was right, that Charles was just outside the room, but knew it was false hope. He had seen the look on Charles' face right after he had defeated Onslaught—the tortured, self-loathing look that meant Charles was blaming himself for everything that went wrong, regardless of whether it was the truth or not.

No, Charles was gone, and Erik was left to pick up the pieces. Which meant dealing with Raven when she came back in, heartbroken that her brother was truly gone, and then Sean, Hank, and the other mutants who were all hoping for their beloved telepath to come back.

_Charles, what have you done?_

Almost as if in response, a piece of white paper taped to the windowsill caught Erik's attention.

Slowly, Erik stood up and made his way over to it, alarmed at how weak his limbs had become since the CIA breakout. They barely supported him, and the short walk over to the windowsill left him exhausted.

He collapsed in an ungraceful heap underneath the window, reaching up and ripping the piece of paper off the glass.

It was from Charles, which Erik had more or less been expecting. The telepath didn't have it in him to leave without saying so much as a word of good-bye.

_That's my job_, Erik thought darkly.

He gently unfolded the letter.

_I'm sorry for everything I've done. Don't come after me. –Charles_


	39. The Easy Way

_Another really long chapter… Yay! _

_By the way, this one is probably one of my favorites. At least, the latter half is. I've had it written since the beginning of the story... so I'm quite happy with it. _

_One slight cliffhanger this time... I can't be too easy on you all._

_Oh... and I'm switching to Tuesday only updates for a while until I can get some more chapters written... Sorry! But it's either that or leave you wonderful people hanging for weeks (read months) at a time..._

_And... I have yet another oneshot written. It's entitled Trouble Magnet... and unlike everything else I've written for this story, it's simple friendship/humor stuff. Nothing deep. Feel free to enjoy it!_

**The Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 39: The Easy Way**

The second Angel and Azazel disappeared, the metal walling of the hangar began vibrating again, proving just how angry Erik was. Hank's emotions were more quiet, but just as easy to discern.

Charles resisted the urge to growl.

"We can't afford to have them as enemies."

Erik shook his head.

"We don't really want them as allies, either."

Hank agreed.

"They've tried to kill us."

Charles resisted the urge to point out the fact that up until this moment, Hank hadn't wanted Erik as an ally either, but now was siding with him.

"They're mutants. They deserve a safe place, regardless of what they've done."

Erik looked away, his jaw clenching as the true meaning of Charles' words hit him.

Hank didn't agree.

"We weren't going to offer Shaw or Emma sanctuary. They were mutants."

The mention of Emma stung, the image of what Charles had been forced to do to her still too fresh in his mind.

"They were different, Hank. They weren't going to change. Azazel and Angel want to."

Erik turned back to the conversation, his eyes livid.

"What if it's a trap, Charles? What if they're still under the influence of the CIA? What then?"

"Then we deal with that when the problem arises. And in case either of you didn't notice, they didn't say they were going to join us, either."

Silence met his angered words, which was just as well, because Charles needed a moment to gather his thoughts. What the two rogue mutants had said was alarming, to say the least, and Charles was still trying to wrap his mind around it.

Hank let out a discontented growl, before stalking off to the Blackbird for a pre-flight inspection.

Erik was still poised in the middle of the hangar, looking as though he were trying to decide whether to leave or not.

Charles mentally sighed.

"I know you're angry with me, but I assure you, running isn't the answer."

"I'm not angry."

The telepath raised an eyebrow.

"Then what do you call this?"

"Concern, mostly."

"Concern for what?"

"That your blind trust in people is one day going to get us all killed."

Charles crossed his arms over his chest and tried not to get annoyed.

"Then you might as well stick around and prevent that from happening."

Erik let out a weary sigh.

"When are you going to get the idea through that thick skull of yours that I'm not leaving?"

"When you stop acting as though every little thing is going to cause you to leave again."

They glared at each other, their stalemate from earlier that day coming back to them.

Much to Charles' surprise, Erik looked away first.

"Believe what you want, Charles, but I'm done running. I want to fight the humans, but I'm not going to do it alone."

That made Charles more ridiculously happy than he could ever admit.

"Good."

He was going to say more, but then opted against it. The whirlpool of changing emotions was beginning to take its toll on what little defense Charles had left, and the strong façade he had put up for Angel and Azazel was beginning to crack.

Erik was watching him closely.

"Are you all right, my friend?"

Charles momentarily considered lying, but that didn't seem like a good option at the moment. So, instead, he shook his head.

"Not really."

Concern flitted across the metal bender's face, warring with the irritation and exasperation. Charles looked away.

Erik let out a weary sigh.

"Okay."

And that was that, though Charles doubted that conversation was over.

* * *

><p>Erik sighed as he put the car into park. He could feel the depression and the pain rolling off the hotel in thick, cold waves of despair. This was obviously the right place.<p>

He climbed out of the car, wishing for the tenth time since he woke up that morning that he hadn't volunteered to do this. This was suicide.

But no one else could get near the hotel and Erik had been reluctant to let anyone else risk their life cleaning up his mess. He had done enough of that in the past and was still struggling to make up for everything he had done.

He picked up the cursed helmet from the front seat and reluctantly placed it on his head. If he was successful in doing this, then it would be the one good act the blasted thing had ever done.

It was a long, slow walk to the hotel room door. Despite the no vacancy sign illuminated in the parking lot, there was only one room that was occupied in the entire hotel. It was obvious which one Erik's missing telepath was camped out in.

Erik reached the door, hesitating once more, before setting the helmet on the ground and knocking.

_This is for the moron's own good,_ he told himself firmly. This wasn't personal. This wasn't because Charles had kept him prisoner in his own mind for over a month or that Charles had very nearly killed everyone they both cared about. That hadn't been Charles. Well, it had, in a sense, but for the sake of what little sanity Erik had left, he decided to say it wasn't Charles.

"Go away."

The voice on the other side was rough and faint, accompanied by a low groan.

Erik closed his eyes and leaned his head against the door. Honestly, he had expected this reaction. Charles had been in hiding for the better part of two weeks now. He wasn't just going to leap up and answer the door with a smile.

Life was never that easy, though it didn't stop Erik from wishing that it was.

"Don't make me open this door, Charles."

"_Erik_?"

Was he expecting God?

"You know I will break this door down if I have to."

There was an annoyed growl, followed by the sound of creaking bed springs.

Frankly, Erik was shocked that it had taken so little effort to get Charles to come to the door. Last he heard, it had taken Raven over two hours of begging, pleading, and nonstop knocking to get Charles to even acknowledge her presence.

Sometimes, it paid to be able to manipulate metal.

The door creaked open, stopping when the chain pulled tight. Charles peered out, blinking owlishly in the bright light.

Erik was taken aback by Charles' appearance. He was pale and covered in a fine layer of sweat, with dark, red rimmed circles under his eyes that made him look like a raccoon with an eye infection. His usually carefully styled hair was tangled and oily, showing days—if not weeks—without care. Charles, who had never been big to begin with, was now so thin, Erik had seen concentration camp survivors that had looked in better health.

"What the hell happened to you?"

Charles flinched at the bluntness in Erik's voice before shrugging.

"My alter ego had too much fun with drugs and alcohol. I think I'm going through withdrawal."

He shivered and wrapped his arms tightly around his stomach. Erik felt a twinge of sympathy for him and tried to remind himself that he was supposed to be angry.

Erik mentally sighed. He couldn't be angry at Charles right now. Not when the man looked like shit and so obviously needed help.

"Can I come in?"

Charles closed his eyes and shook his head.

"You don't want to come in here right now. And I'm not sure if I want you to, either."

"Then why did you open the door?"

Charles gave a one shoulder shrug, before his face paled. He turned around and disappeared from sight, leaving Erik alone outside.

The oh so pleasant sounds of retching emitted from inside the darkened room. While Erik was busy trying to pretend he didn't care, he knew he couldn't just leave Charles when he was like this.

"I'm coming in, Charles."

"Don't."

His protest was weak and raspy, overtaken by a groan of pain. It was the only confirmation Erik needed to slide the chain latch back from the door and push his way into the hotel room.

A sharp, rancid scent hit Erik so strong he almost fell over. He coughed, gagging when he tried to catch his breath.

How the hell did Charles manage to _live_ in this?

Erik's eyes adjusted to the gloomy interior long before his nose did. He blinked, his eyes watering, and took in the wrecked one-bed room. There wasn't a lot there. Just a bed, a chest of drawers, and a mirror, all of which had looked like they had seen better days. The mirror was cracked with a long shard missing from the middle. Upon closer inspection, Erik realized with a sinking heart that the center of the cracks was stained with dried blood.

A toilet flushed and Charles emerged from the bathroom, looking even more haggard in the darkness. Erik swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat, trying to remind himself that he was supposed to be pissed at Charles.

"How long have you been like this?"

_Damn_ the concern that continued to flood through him and leak out before he had the chance to clamp down on it. He hated the fact that he couldn't stay angry and he hated the fact that it was Charles' fault that he couldn't.

At the moment, he was pretty certain he hated Charles.

Charles visibly swallowed before answering.

"Two weeks."

Ever since he went missing. Well, he didn't exactly _go_ missing. He knocked everybody out at the hospital, left a note that said don't find me, and then just left. But that was beside the point.

"Was this why you left?"

If it was, then maybe Erik could forgive him for leaving. For not dealing with the problems he caused, for just running away to deal with himself before he focused on fixing others. Because that would be the Charles thing to do, and maybe, just maybe, it meant that everything that happened since the CIA rescue attempt hadn't been some strange twisted karma.

"Mostly. Some of it was because I didn't think I was welcome anymore. Some of it was because I needed to get away."

"You didn't think you'd be _welcome_?"

"I did try to kill everyone. Hell, Erik, I nearly succeeded in killing you."

"That wasn't you."

It couldn't have been. If it was, then there was nothing left in the world to care about.

Charles let out a bitter laugh that gave way into a coughing fit. The slowly building anger in Erik's veins vanished instantly.

"Charles?"

The telepath shook his head.

"You know as well as I do that it _was_ me. Some part of me, anyway. And I can't risk it getting out again."

"It _won't_."

Charles sighed heavily, looking away from Erik. He walked over to the still open door and gestured to it.

"You can go now."

"No."

Their glaring contest lasted all of five seconds before Charles changed his mind.

"Fine. Then I will."

He turned to leave, which ignited Erik's anger once more.

"You can't run from your mistakes, Charles!"

Charles turned back to Erik, his face twisted in disbelieving anger.

"You're _kidding_! _You_ are telling _me_ that I can't run from mistakes? That's all you've ever done, Erik! It's what you did after the concentration camps, after Shaw killed your family, after _you_ nearly destroyed _me_, and it's what you're still doing!"

White-hot rage bloomed within Erik and he fought to keep it under control. He tried to tell himself that this was the reaction Charles wanted, that Charles was deliberately trying to push him away, but Erik couldn't deny the fact that it _hurt_ to have his mistakes thrown back in his face so harshly and by the man who he once considered to be his best friend.

His voice was dangerously soft when he replied.

"I've atoned for my sins, Charles. I've come back to fix them."

Charles scoffed, shaking his head.

"No, you didn't. You came back because you felt guilty."

"And _you_ are running away because you feel guilty. Guess that makes us even."

A fist came out of nowhere and connected with Erik's jaw. Pain and surprise flooded through him as he reeled backward and stumbled, nearly falling to the floor.

He chuckled bitterly.

"You can hit me all you want, Charles, but that doesn't change what you've done. It doesn't change what you're _still_ doing."

Antarctica would have been warmer than the icy, venomous look on Charles' face.

"Get the hell out of here."

"No."

"_Get. Out._"

Charles was shaking as he clenched his hands into fists. His knuckles were white. Erik found that he didn't care. He could take Charles with one arm tied behind his back. He had before.

He smiled, without a hint of humor in his expression.

"Make me."

Shock flitted across Charles' face as he visibly recoiled. Of all the things he had been prepared for, that obviously hadn't been one of them.

Erik took the opportunity to press his advantage.

"If you want me to leave so badly, then make me, goddamn it. You're a telepath. You have the power to do it, so _use_ it. Make me leave."

Charles shook his head, clenching his teeth together.

"Erik…"

"I'm serious, Charles. The only way I'm leaving this godforsaken hotel room is if you make me. I know you can do it. Hell, you did nothing _but _order people around for the past month. What makes now so different?"

Erik took a step forward, forcing Charles to take a step back in order to keep the distance between them.

"You can't do it, can you? You can't make me leave, no matter how much you might want to."

The telepath visibly swallowed as he once more shook his head.

"Just _go_, Erik."

"Make me."

He half expected a harsh command in his head telling him to leave, but to his surprise, Charles just sighed.

"Fine. If you don't want to go, then stay here. I don't care. I won't be seeing you, Erik."

With that, he turned around and stormed out of the hotel room, obviously thinking that would be the end of their argument. Erik wasn't put off that easily. He quickly followed Charles, nearly running into him on the other side of the door.

Charles was frozen, staring at the discarded helmet with wide eyes.

Erik stood there, uncertain what to do.

"Charles?"

The telepath turned, his eyes darkening.

"Why did you bring this here?"

"I didn't know if I was going to need it. I wanted to be prepared."

Anger and desperation flashed across Charles' face before he turned back to the helmet. He was shaking violently as he bent down and brushed his fingers against the red titanium. He looked up at Erik, his eyes wide with surprise.

"You didn't wear it."

His voice was soft, stunned by the realization. The anger had vanished, leaving a broken shadow of the man Charles used to be.

Erik doubted he would ever be able to wear it around his friend again.

"No. I didn't."

Charles shakily pushed himself back to his feet, leaning against the wall for support. His eyes were half open, but shining with regret.

"I'm sorry, Erik."

A pang of sympathy shot through Erik and he fought against just giving in and telling Charles everything would be okay. That would be a lie and it was the last thing Charles needed.

"Just… stop running. Please. It doesn't fix anything."

Charles closed his eyes and nodded slowly. All of the strength he had been displaying was gone, vanishing along with the anger. He looked exhausted and sick, making him look much younger than his twenty-eight years.

Erik felt the last vestiges of his anger drain out of him. It hit him that Charles hadn't really recovered from his month and a half imprisonment in the CIA and then the two months of imprisonment in his own mind. That, coupled with the fact that his alter ego had gotten him addicted to every kind of drug and alcohol imaginable, added up to a world of agony.

"Charles… you can't keep going like this. You're going to kill yourself."

Charles opened his eyes and looked away. Erik felt as though he had just been sucker punched.

"Do you _want_ to die?"

Horrified shock and sadness battled for in Erik's voice. Charles sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair.

"No. Yes. Maybe. I don't know."

Erik was at a loss as to what to say. What _could_ you say, when your best friend said that he wasn't sure if he wanted to live?

Charles shook his head.

"It doesn't matter what I want. What matters is I can't do anything about it."

"Why?"

Charles looked back at Erik, the faintest hints of a sad smile ghosting his face. It vanished quickly, replaced by pain. He let out a gasp and barely turned away from Erik before he threw up once more. Erik was horrified when Charles turned back to him and blood dripped from his mouth.

This was bad. Very bad.

"Charles…"

The telepath shook his head and wiped the blood away. He was shaking violently. Without thinking, Erik reached out and rested his hand on Charles' shoulder.

"You need help, Charles."

"I don't-."

Erik cut across him.

"Stop. I'm not going to take no for an answer. You need help and you're going to get it. If you don't want it, you're going to have to stop me."

Charles let out a shaky laugh that came out more as a sob.

"I can, you know."

Erik's grip tightened on the shorter man's shoulder.

"But you won't."

It was a risk, making such a declaration. Erik was well aware that his plan could backfire, that Charles would end up making him leave, but from the look on the telepath's face, Erik highly doubted that would happen.

Charles swallowed hard, before nodding once.

"All right."

Erik gave him a faint smile, ready to say something along the lines of _come home_, when Charles' eyes rolled to the back of his head and he collapsed against Erik, unconscious.

"Damn it, Charles, you never do things the easy way, do you?"


	40. Getting Back

_What's this? NO cliffhangers? Gasp. Whatever are you going to do with yourselves? _

**The Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 40: Getting Back**

Hank came back out of the cockpit, clearly having worked out his inner frustrations about Charles' decision. His blue face soured as he got a good look at Charles for the first time since that morning.

"Christ, Professor, what the hell happened to you?"

Erik flinched at Hank's rather blunt question, but it made Charles laugh, which the metal bender took as a plus.

"I'm fine, Hank."

Hank ignored this and looked at Erik.

"This is your fault."

The amount of heat behind his words would have melted the polar ice caps. Clearly, whatever alliance they had had earlier when Azazel had been there was gone.

Charles intervened before Erik had the chance to respond.

"It's no one's fault, Hank, least of all Erik's. What I did and the choices I made are entirely my own."

Hank growled.

"Then explain to me why it is that every time _he_ comes around, you end up almost dead."

"For Christ's sake, Hank, I'm _fine_!"

There was just enough persuasion in Charles' word to both prove Hank's point that Charles wasn't fine and to make the scientist leave the older man alone.

For a brief moment, Erik was glad he wasn't Hank.

Charles sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"I'm sorry."

Hank shook his head.

"Don't worry about it."

Charles looked as though he were about to say more, but Erik interrupted him.

"Is the plane ready for flight?"

Hank looked uneasy.

"The plane's ready, but there's been a federally mandated lockdown on all airports. They don't want anyone flying in or out of here for another twenty-four hours."

Erik felt as though this day couldn't get any worse.

Charles spoke up.

"Is there any way we could get around that? We need to get back to Westchester, immediately."

The anxiety in his voice was almost impossible to miss, but thankfully, Hank decided not to comment on it.

Instead, the scientist looked thoughtful.

"There might be a stealth setting we can try."

* * *

><p>Charles woke a few hours later to the sound of cursing.<p>

Groggily, he opened his eyes, wondering what was going on. Last he recalled, he had been alone.

With an annoyingly fuzzy memory, Charles remembered, just as his eyes focused on the reason for his disturbed unconsciousness.

Erik was standing at the foot of the bed, glaring at the broken mirror on the wall with a look of utmost contempt. It was almost comical.

"Erik?"

He had to be sure that it wasn't some hallucination. After everything he had been through, it wouldn't be too far fetched.

The metal bender turned, his eyes widening ever so slightly. Clearly, he hadn't been expecting Charles to wake anytime soon.

"Charles."

The telepath swallowed and propped himself up on the lumpy mattress. He resisted the urge to groan as his sore muscles protested the movement.

"You're still here, then."

"Obviously."

"Good… that's… I'm sorry. For earlier."

Erik's gaze settled into passive indifference as he shrugged.

"I've been told worse."

Charles sighed heavily, wincing as the effort pulled at his still healing ribs.

"You deserve better."

"So do you."

Charles would have to have been blind and stupid to miss the pointed look around the shambles of a hotel room.

"Look, Erik…"

"If this is going to be another half-assed attempt to get me to leave, you can forget it. You're sick and you need help and you're going to get it."

A faint smile tugged at Charles' lips.

"You're a stubborn bastard, you know that?"

Erik scoffed.

"Pot calling kettle black."

Charles lifted a shoulder in half-acceptance of the words and promptly changed the subject.

"I'm sorry I left."

"Don't be. Just come _home_, Charles."

_Home_. The one place that Charles had been avoiding like the plague.

"I can't."

His voice broke and he looked away, not wanting to see the pity that was sure to be in his friend's eyes.

Erik muttered something incoherent before sitting down next to Charles on the rather shitty mattress.

"You know the others don't blame you for what happened with Onslaught. They know that it wasn't you."

"But it _was_ me. At least some part of me. Deep down."

"I somehow doubt that you would willingly choke your own sister because she was trying to make sure you're all right."

Charles shook his head.

"I already did."

"_Onslaught_ did."

"We're the same person, Erik."

The other man snorted.

"The day I start believing that is the day the humans win this war."

They glared at each other, before Charles looked away with a sigh.

Erik let out something akin to a growl.

"I was there the entire time, Charles. I know you didn't have any control over him until the end. Raven, Hank, and Sean know that too."

Charles' hands clenched into fists and his jaw tightened for a moment, before he took a deep breath and released it slowly.

"It still doesn't make what happened right."

"Blaming yourself isn't going to fix anything."

Charles let out a sad laugh.

"Only you, Erik, would insist that this isn't my fault."

"It's a trick I learned from an old friend."

The beginnings of a smile played at Charles' lips, but it died quickly.

"Are Raven and the others all right?"

Erik shrugged one shoulder.

"You're going to have to find that one out for yourself."

Charles let out an annoyed snort.

"I could force you to tell me, you know."

"That would constitute as finding out for yourself."

Charles shook his head.

"I'm not sure if I can access my powers at the moment."

Erik cast his friend a sideways glance.

"You just need to focus. Personally, I find that true focus lies somewhere between rage and serenity."

That received a sad laugh from Charles.

"Yes, that it does."

Erik smiled slightly.

"You know, there is a reason why you won out over Onslaught. And it's not because you're stronger telepathically than he is."

Charles raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"And why is that?"

"It's because you're just a stronger person than he is. He had to resort to killing people to get his way. You… you just ask and people will move the world for you."

"At the very least, submarines."

The sad attempt at humor did little to disguise the overwhelming gratitude that was pouring off Charles in waves.

Erik smiled again.

"Or submarines."

Charles sighed softly.

"I just don't want Onslaught to get out again."

The admission was spoken in a terrified whisper.

Erik's smile faded into a determined look as he glanced over at the telepath.

"He won't, Charles. I promise you that."

"You put far too much faith in me, my friend."

"And you put far too little faith in yourself."


	41. Redefining Normal

_I apologize profusely for this being so late. Charles and Erik were stuck in a never ending circle of angst and repitition. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't help but write the same scene over and over and over again. So... I had to give it a few weeks and delete the entire thing and start from scratch. So, once more, I am sorry about the wait! Hopefully, this chapter will make up for it somewhat._

_Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed. If I haven't responded to you personally, it's not that I hate you. I love you all very dearly, I've just been swamped with real life lately. _

_*sends hugs of gratitude to everyone*_

**The Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 41: Redefining Normal **

Hank's stealth setting on the Blackbird worked perfectly and the rest of the plane ride back to Westchester was quiet, to say the least, with Charles, Hank, and Erik all lost in their own thoughts.

Charles was grateful for the opportunity to finally be sitting down, but rather despised the hours of free time he had to reflect on what happened.

Cain was alive.

The thought was on constant repeat in his mind. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't think about anything else. His stepbrother, the one Charles swore he killed all those years ago, was _alive_.

Emotions swirled in Charles' mind, too numerous to name. Mostly, he felt confused, as to how Cain had survived that night. Fear was also up there, as Charles absently considered the idea that maybe Kurt survived too.

It was a terrifying thought, more so than seeing Cain. While the younger Marko had practically been Satan in human form, Kurt had been worse. Much worse. Cain was an idiot, barely able to figure out how to breathe on his own. Kurt was smart, a genius, even. He knew how to turn any situation into his advantage. The thought of him alive _now_, with the world being so fragile and in need of someone to show it the way, Kurt could do a lot of damage, more so than even Hitler.

But, Charles reminded himself. Cain was in jail, having been arrested for the assassination of the President. Charles had seen it all in his stepbrother's mind—he actually had done it, under the guise of a Lee Harvey Oswald. That wasn't something Kurt would do. While he was brutal and unfeeling, he wasn't a murderer. He knew that death was the easy way out, leaving him unable to inflict pain on the victim.

Charles would know. There had been many occasions during his teen years where he had wished for the alternative.

No, this assassination plot had Cain's lack of intelligence written all over it. For one thing, it lacked planning. From what Charles had glimpsed in Cain's mind, the gun had been an impulse buy, the murder a simple coincidence—same time, same place kind of deal.

It disgusted Charles, how easy it was for his former stepbrother to take a life.

The thought sent him back to that sidewalk in Texas. That spot, where only a few hours before, Emma Frost had been standing, attempting to erase everything that Erik was, while simultaneously trying to capture Charles.

He could still feel the vibration of the gun's recoil as the bullet exited the chamber, could still see the bullet speeding toward its target. While he had collapsed into unconsciousness before Emma had actually died, it didn't save Charles from hearing her last thoughts, forever on echo in his mind.

She had been surprised, to say the least, but there had also been an overpowering sense of relief. It was only then that Charles realized that her cooperation with the CIA hadn't been her choice at all. She had been given a choice between enslavement to Stryker or being tortured.

Charles wasn't sure, had he been in her position, if he wouldn't have chosen torture. At least that way, he would have still been himself.

She had been relieved, as though Charles had done her a favor. In a way, he knew he had—she was now forever free from Stryker and whatever torment the man could inflict on her—but at the same time, he couldn't help but feel as though he had failed her. He should have figured it out sooner, should have done _some_thing to save her. He had so much raw power that he could have easily undone whatever sin Stryker had committed, that he could have saved Emma.

If only he had known.

Hank's low growl interrupted Charles' train of thought.

"We're going to be landing shortly."

Charles blinked, not realizing so much time had passed since they had left Texas.

The sun was just beginning to set as Hank punched in the appropriate landing settings.

Charles stared out the window, watching as the once miniscule world became larger the closer the Blackbird got to the runway.

He felt Erik's eyes on him and the telepath turned.

"What?"

Erik shook his head.

"Nothing."

By the look on the other man's face, there was clearly _something_ going on, but Charles didn't have the energy nor the patience to deal with it at the moment.

Erik seemed to sense Charles' mood, for he waited until they had landed and for Hank to disappear to check some setting or another before beginning his train of thought with a heavy sigh.

"You look like crap."

Charles snorted.

"Somehow, I think that's the least of my worries."

"You're going to kill yourself not worrying about the important things."

It was Charles' turn to sigh.

"So the fact that I killed someone doesn't matter?"

"The fact that you care so much about it that you're willing to make yourself sick trying to atone for matters more."

Charles closed his eyes and looked away.

"I killed Emma. One of our own. Someone like me."

He heard Erik's sharp intake of breath.

"Don't say that. She was nothing like you, Charles."

"She was a mutant, Erik. More than that, she was a telepath and a human being. How can you just ignore that?"

"Because she tried to kill me and damn near killed you in the process."

Charles shook his head.

"It wasn't her fault. Not entirely."

Erik snorted.

"I highly doubt that."

Charles' eyes flashed as he glared up at the metal wielder.

"None of this was her choice. Stryker forced her into it."

"Stryker may have given her an ultimatum, but in the end, it was her choice."

"How can you be so okay with this? She's _dead_ and I shot her!"

"I say good riddance. The mutant race doesn't need someone like her anyway. She was too conniving for her own good."

Charles swallowed the insults and harsh words rising in his throat that would inevitably drive Erik away for the third time that day. Instead, he merely let out a deep sigh.

They sat in silence for a few moments, before Erik changed the subject.

"This isn't just about Emma, is it?"

Charles slowly shook his head, swallowing heavily as he tried to find the words to convey what was going on in his mind. Because Erik deserved that, at the very least, for nearly having his mind erased.

"Cain was dead, Erik. I watched him die. I was there when the paramedics declared him dead. And then, suddenly, he was there in that police station. Older, different name… but I have never forgotten a mind I've touched. And his I remember more than others."

_Because I was the one who destroyed it_. The words were too painful to say out loud.

Erik's jaw clenched.

"Did you get anything from his mind? Any clue as to how he survived?"

Charles shook his head again.

"No. All I know is that he was the one who killed the President."

"There has to be something, Charles. Anything at all."

"If there was, I didn't see it."

The gentle, yet forceful reminder that Charles wasn't exactly at the top of his game was enough to shut Erik up instantly.

Charles mentally sighed.

"I don't blame you, Erik."

The metal wielder tensed.

"You were unconscious right after you killed Emma. You were barely moving. I thought…"

He trailed off, his voice a strangled whisper.

Charles swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat and looked away as he filled in the blanks.

"Well, I'm alive, and that's all that matters."

Erik shook his head.

"You're a moron, Charles, for not figuring that out sooner. Your blatant disregard for your life is appalling."

Charles found it slightly insulting that he was getting lectured on the merits of staying alive by someone who had once willingly accepted the fact that he would drown trying to stop a submarine.

But he couldn't be too upset—it was touching, to say the least, to find that there was someone out there who actually cared whether or not he lived or died.

Then, the full magnitude of everything that had happened today hit Charles like a freight train and it was all he could do to keep from screaming.

He squeezed his eyes shut, attempting to stem the flow of tears that burned his eyes.

"I killed her, Erik."

Erik let out a shaky breath, betraying how he truly felt.

"I know."

The simple, calm acceptance was liberating.

"Cain's going to get out of jail. He's going to try to kill me."

"I know."

"The CIA wants to kill us."

"I know."

Charles opened his eyes.

"I'm sorry. For everything."

Erik let out a soft laugh.

"I know. I am too."

* * *

><p><em>It was dark and cold. Water dripped in a relentless stream from the cracked ceiling above. Never ending screams and groans could be heard from just outside the door. He longed to help, longed to be able to <em>move_ off the bed, force his guard to open the door, and rescue the others trapped in this hell._

_But he couldn't move. He could barely breathe. His powers were gone._

Erik sat up with a start, his breathing labored and heavy. He glanced wildly around, reassuring himself that he was no longer locked in the camps with Shaw. Shaw was dead. All of that was over.

A soft whimper, barely audible over the sound of Erik's racing heart, called him back to the present, reminding him that he wasn't alone.

He glanced over, feeling a wave of helplessness crash over him as his eyes rested on Charles. The telepath was tangled up in his sheets, his face twisted in pain and fear, locked in the horrible nightmare.

He had been projecting again.

In the week that Erik had spent with Charles, trying to convince the other man that he needed to come back to his family, the telepath had barely slept, and what little sleep he did manage, had been plagued by nightmares. Due to his lack of control form the injuries and imprisonment he had endured, Charles had also been projecting every single last one of his terrible dreams to Erik.

It would be over in a few moments. Experience, both from his own nightmares and watching Charles suffer through his, had taught Erik that much. It did no good trying to wake the telepath, either. The last time Erik had tried that, he had wound up waking up on the floor with a bloody nose and a very guilty looking Charles.

None of that made watching Charles go through that hell any easier. And as much as Erik tried, there was really nothing he could do for the telepath.

"If you're going to stare at me that intently, take a picture."

The muffled rasp pulled Erik out of his musings.

"You would hate how your hair looks, Charles."

Charles was propped up against his pillows, looking flat out exhausted with dark rings underneath his barely open eyes and his mess of hair.

The telepath smiled slightly, before sighing heavily.

"I'm sorry to have woken you."

Erik shrugged.

"Don't worry about it."

He had gotten over his anger with Charles long ago. It was blatantly obvious now why the younger man had left, and as much as Erik had resented it, he understood.

Charles shook his head.

"As much as I appreciate your being here, this isn't fair to you."

"Stryker torturing you and Onslaught locking you in your mind wasn't fair to you."

Charles flinched at the blunt reminder of what had happened.

"If I remember correctly, Erik, _you_ had those things happen to you as well."

"It's not a contest, Charles."

They stared at each other, before Charles looked away.

"It's—it should be easier than this, Erik."

The whispered admission simultaneously surprised and saddened the metal bender.

"Why?"

Silence.

Erik sighed.

"I can't help you if you don't talk to me."

It wasn't the first time that Erik had brought it up and he doubted it would be the last. However, it was the first time that the words had brought about a reaction other than a stony silence.

"I want to talk to you, Erik, I really do. But I just—I can barely make sense of what all happened. Add that to the withdrawal Onslaught forced me in to and the terrible things that Stryker did and I just…"

He trailed off again, clearly agitated. He extricated himself from his sheets and walked over to the window, his profile illuminated by the dim light from outside.

Erik stayed where he was, sensing that any movement on his part would cause Charles to clam up again.

Charles stared out the window, the tension ebbing from his body.

"Believe me, Erik, when I tell you that I don't want to do this on my own. But for now, I have to, and I'm sorry for that. I truly am."

"I understand."

And Erik did. The frustration, the inability to talk about what happened… all of it. They were the exact same things Erik had been dealing with before he had met Charles. Afterward… Erik couldn't even begin to describe the relief he had felt that someone had finally understood what all he was going through and offered him redemption for it.

Charles' shoulders were slumped now as the telepath once more shook his head.

"I really am sorry."

"Don't be. None of this was your fault."

It was the first time that Erik had spoken those words with the hope that maybe Charles would believe them.

Charles glanced back at Erik. Though his expression was impossible to see because of the darkness, Erik could feel the gratitude pouring off the telepath in warm waves.

Things were far from all right.

But maybe, one day, they would be.


	42. Truths

_Now look at this! Another update...barely a week later? What is this madness? Is it summer vacation? Gasp! It must be!_

_And as for the first two parts of this chapter seeming identical... they're not. Yes, they're both homecoming scenes concerning the same people... but I promise. They are completely different. _

_Thank you to everyone who has reviewed! Triste Alma, thank you for catching up and leaving so many wonderful reviews. Haylia Jones, thank you for your awesome plot point catching. It makes me happy when you put things together like that. :) The PTB's Red Fox, I apologize again for the wait! I hope this somewhat faster update will more than make up for it. :) The Singing Duck, I know. No cliffhangers. I'm losing my touch. But don't worry. The cliffhangers are going to make a comeback. You just don't know when. *raises eyebrow and grins maniacally*. 221.B.B., thank you! I'm glad you're loving the story! _

_And to everyone concerned with the Cain storyline... hehehehe. I have a lot in store for that one. Don't worry. It also, ironically, concerns cliffhangers. Mwhahahahaha. *cough*. _

**Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 42: Truths**

Sean and Raven were waiting in the entrance way when Erik, Charles, and Hank returned to the mansion. Erik didn't have to be a telepath to feel their fear and anxiety pouring off them in waves.

Raven glanced from Erik to Hank, before her gaze finally rested on Charles. Her face settled into an intense look of dissatisfaction. Erik understood—her brother looked like crap.

Charles halted at the bottom of the steps and looked up at the other two mutants, clearly attempting to determine what all he should tell them. Erik was no longer sure if they should be told anything at all. It wasn't that he didn't think they deserved to know—they did—it was just that after everything that had happened lately, they shouldn't have to deal with this on top of everything else.

Raven didn't wait for anyone to say anything. She hopped down the steps, dropping her crutches along the way, and pulled Charles into a hug.

She whispered something to him, something that even Erik's keen ears couldn't make out, but the metal bender knew without a doubt that it had something to do with Cain. Clearly, she had seen the news and knew, better than the rest, what all of this meant to Charles.

Charles visibly swallowed and nodded as he pulled away, plastering on a fake smile. Sean and Hank seemed slightly reassured, obviously unable to read through their beloved telepath's falsehood.

For some reason, this made Erik uneasy. He didn't want Charles' past to be common knowledge—Erik resented the fact that so many people knew so much about his own past—but nor did Erik want the others to become complacent and believe they were safe.

Erik knew they weren't.

Charles turned, obviously overhearing the gist of Erik's thoughts, and shook his head almost imperceptibly.

_I have a plan, my friend_.

The telepath took a deep shaky breath before addressing everyone gathered on the front steps.

"I know you are all confused by what's going on and you want answers. I promise you, you will have them. But not tonight."

Sean looked frustrated, Hank looked mildly concerned, and Raven looked downright worried. Erik hoped his own face wasn't as expressive.

Charles let out a weary sigh.

"I'm not trying to keep things from you. But we're all exhausted and we—_I_—need some time. Tomorrow morning, I promise you, you will get your answers."

This seemed to satisfy Hank and Sean, but Erik couldn't help but wonder at the unconvinced look at Raven's face. Evidently, there was something else going on.

What else could Charles possibly be hiding?

* * *

><p>Charles looked up when Erik put the car into park, anxiety already pulsing through him. He tightened his grip on the car door, trying to remember how to breathe.<p>

Erik let out a soft chuckle.

"Relax, Charles. They're going to be excited to see you."

After two weeks' worth of doctor's visits, cajoling, and outright threats, Erik finally managed to convince Charles to return to the safe house.

Charles couldn't remember a time where he was more anxious than he was at that moment as he pushed open the car door. This was his family, people he cared about… people he had almost killed a few weeks ago.

Sean, Raven, and Hank were waiting at the front door as Charles and Erik walked slowly up the drive. Raven let out a screech of joy when she saw Charles walking behind Erik.

"Charles!"

Before anyone had the chance to think about what was going on, she was running down the steps of the safe house and tackling her brother into a bear hug.

Charles returned the hug, his arms tightening around her protectively. Tears stung his eyes as he realized just how much he had missed his sister.

"I'm sorry."

Raven shook her head at his whispered admission.

"Don't be. It wasn't you."

And that was all it took for Charles' heart to break as he realized how _stupid_ he had been to abandon them all.

His eyes met Erik's. The metal bender had an _I told you so_ look on his face, which Charles responded to with a faint smile.

Raven pulled away from him, her yellow eyes narrowing in concern.

"You look like crap, Charles."

The telepath let out a faint laugh.

"Thanks for that."

She shrugged unapologetically.

"It's the truth."

Charles swallowed hard.

"I'll be all right."

"You better be. I don't want to lose you again."

He could see the tears in her eyes, but decided not to comment on them, instead allowing her to take his hand and slowly lead him up the steps.

Hank and Sean had been watching the scene with wide, anxious eyes, but they seemed to visibly relax as they realized that it was definitely Charles who had returned to them and not his darker half.

Sean approached him slowly.

"It's good to have you back, Professor."

Charles smiled slightly, his eyes going to the still healing scar on the redhead's face.

"Are you all right?"

Sean nodded.

"I'm fine."

Hank let out a snort.

"He's finally had some sense knocked into him."

Sean rolled his eyes and stuck out his tongue. Charles knew he should probably intervene, but at the moment, he was glad to see his _family_ acting so carefree.

He allowed them to usher him inside, listening to the simultaneous scolding of his absence and relief of his homecoming.

_This isn't over._

The sudden, ice cold voice in Charles' head was almost enough to make him pause.

_You had your chance, Onslaught. You lost. This is _over.

_Don't be stupid, Charlie. As long as Erik's alive, you know this will never be over. It's why you didn't want to come back, remember? _

"Charles?"

Onslaught's cold words were replaced by Raven's warm concern and the anxious looks of Sean and Hank.

He blinked.

"Did I miss anything?"

Raven looked slightly nervous as she replied.

"We just wanted to know what you wanted for dinner."

"Anything's fine."

As he answered, Charles could Onslaught chuckling in the back of his mind.

_This isn't over, Charlie. No matter how hard you try to run, this will never be over._

* * *

><p>Erik had finally gone to sleep.<p>

Charles couldn't decide if he was happy or annoyed by this fact. He was glad that his friend had finally calmed down enough to actually _sleep_—for the first time in God knew how long—but Charles was also simultaneously irritated with the fact that Erik could sleep at all after everything that had happened that day.

The telepath was currently on the roof, having been unable to stay inside any longer.

It was a clear, crisp night. The stars shone with dazzling brilliance and in the distance, the bright lights of the city could be seen.

Charles leaned against the railing, the cold metal soothing the fiery ache in his back. He knew he should have had Hank take a look at it earlier, but all Charles wanted to do was forget. Forget about Emma's look of horrified surprise as the bullet entered her skull, forget about Cain's face... breaking Erik out of the CIA… Cuba… all of it.

He buried his head in his hands, taking a few, deep breaths. It hit him that he hadn't had to meditate like this to control his powers since after the Markos' deaths. The irony of that was not lost on him, forcing Charles back into the reality that he didn't want to face.

Cain was alive.

Hysteria bubbled up inside of him, threatening to boil over.

Of all of the unfair cards life had dealt him—a bullet in the back from the man who Charles considered to be his best friend—this had to be the worst.

Cain. The one person who knew all of the hell Charles had gone through, back to wreck more havoc on the telepath's fragile existence.

What the hell had Charles ever done to deserve this?

The door to the roof opened, breaking Charles' train of thought. He blinked, not expecting to find Sean standing in front of him. The younger man was carrying two cups of hot chocolate and had a determined expression on his face.

"Professor, are you all right?"

The simplicity of the question made Charles want to laugh  
>and cry all at the same time. No, he wasn't all right, but there wasn't anything anyone could do about it.<p>

"I will be, Sean. Did you need anything?"

Sean looked suddenly hesitant as he walked over to Charles and handed him one of the mugs.

"I—the—Hank told me. About Emma."

Charles closed his eyes, his grip tightening ever so slightly on the mug.

"And you wanted to know if it was true."

"No."

Charles opened his eyes and raised an eyebrow.

"Then why are you here?"

Sean shrugged.

"I guess I just wanted to tell you that it doesn't matter. None of it does."

"It's not that simple, Sean."

"Why not? Because you killed someone?"

Charles was slightly taken aback by how blunt Sean was.

"Yes."

Sean shook his head.

"Erik's killed lots of people. It doesn't seem to bother him."

"And look where that's gotten him."

The words slipped out of Charles' mouth before he could stop them. He grimaced.

"That's not how I wanted that to come out."

Sean smiled slightly.

"It's cool. I knew you were still pretty pissed at him anyway."

A faint smile tugged at Charles' lips and for the first time that day, he allowed himself to relax. He took a sip of the hot chocolate and closed his eyes, allowing the warmth to seep through him.

There was a heavy sigh as Sean leaned against the railing beside Charles.

"You know, Prof, there's a lot you think we don't know about that we do. Like that time when you and Erik accidentally burned down-."

The younger man trailed off at Charles' pointed look.

The telepath sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"I know. You and Hank aren't children."

"That's not where I was going with that. I mean, yeah, we're adults and all now, but… You're the only family Hank and I got. So if you ever need to talk about anything, we're here for you. Because like I said, we know a lot that you don't think we do."

It still surprised and humbled Charles at times how far Sean and Hank had come since they first met.

"Thank you."

Sean smiled and clapped a gentle head on Charles' shoulder.

"Don't take this to mean you can slack off on being the professor, though. We still need you. But it's okay if you need us every once in a while, too."


	43. Reassurances

_Okay, so I originally hadn't intended on this first section being in this story. It was posted as a one-shot (which has been taken down...) but I decided that it fit so perfectly here that I wanted it to be in here. So, I apologize if you have to reread it..._

_Thank you for all of your wonderful reviews! _

_PTB's Red Fox: Onslaught can never accept defeat! But feel free to hug Charles :) Lord knows he needs it after everything I've put him through (and am going to put him through...)_

_Haylia Jones: I am seriously thinking about making that line into a one-shot... because I have lots of ideas for that one. : ). _

_The Singing Duck: I'm glad you liked it! And as for them relying on Hank and Sean, we're getting to that point! Yay! But as for Charles and Erik accepting that idea... well, that's the fun part, right? :)_

_221.B.B: Thank you for your kind words! I'm glad you've been enjoying getting updates. :) And we'll eventually get around to what Charles is hiding... I promise! And as for the two separate story-lines, there actually is an underlying motive... but... we won't get to that for at least another five or seven chapters._

**Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 43: Reassurances**

There were seventeen cracks on the ceiling.

Charles had counted every single last one of them multiple times over the past hour.

A month passed since Erik brought Charles home.

A lot had changed. Charles was steadily starting to grow stronger after the imprisonment and the alcohol and drug abuse, though there were still times when he had a mental breakdown of sorts. But those were becoming less and less frequent and Charles was slowly starting to gain confidence in himself once more.

He couldn't sleep—he hadn't been able to ever since he had thrown Onslaught into that vortex. Every single time he closed his eyes, Charles could still see the horrified surprise on his darker half's face moments before Charles threw Onslaught over the edge.

It shouldn't have bothered him as much as it did. After all, only one of them could have won, and had Onslaught been the victor, Charles knew it would have meant certain death for the people who he cared about.

But Onslaught was still there. Whatever that vortex had been, it wasn't certain death. There was still a chance Charles' darker side could get out again—that next time, he would win.

Angrily, the telepath shoved the thought out of his head and rolled over on to his side, pain flaring ever so slightly in his ribs. They still hadn't fully recovered from the bullet wound Moira had inflicted.

He flinched, before letting out a soft sigh. His mind was a jumbled mess, still trying to work through what happened both during his imprisonment and after. He couldn't find the serenity he so desperately needed, and his injuries weren't helping. Nor were the uneasy minds coming from all over the safe house.

Charles closed his eyes and slowly counted back from one hundred. It was an old trick he used when he was a teen, when Kurt had completely destroyed all of Charles' already weak shields and the young telepath couldn't handle the onslaught of emotions coming from the occupants of the mansion.

It didn't work. He got all the way down to one and was still unable to find some sort of peace.

Charles threw off the covers and stumbled out of bed, wincing as the pain in his chest ignited. He paused halfway between sitting and standing, trying to catch his breath. It took a few moments, but soon, the black spots faded from his vision and the pain cleared enough for Charles to consider walking again.

He walked haltingly out of his room and paused, reaching out with his mind to check where everyone else was. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted company.

Luckily, Hank was in the basement, working on some sort of scientific experiment, Raven was burning off some energy in the makeshift gym, and Sean was in his room. Erik was on the roof, remodeling the metal fixtures as he mulled over what all had happened.

The telepath sighed, knowing he would have to deal with all of those at some point during the evening.

Charles headed downstairs and outside, not realizing that it was snowing until he was ankle deep and barefoot in the slush.

He shivered, but the fact that it was cold didn't bother him. In fact, it was invigorating, washing away the last of the pain that had been plaguing him all day.

Snow was falling gently from the night sky, bathing the world in silence and peace. The warm glow from the houses below cast a soft light on the front lawn

Erik stood on the front steps near the driveway, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared off into the distance. He turned when he heard Charles' footsteps.

"Shouldn't you be in bed?"

The telepath made a face.

"It's hard to sleep with you thinking so loudly."

The metal bender grimaced.

"I thought…"

He trailed off and gestured to the house behind them. Charles gave him a slight smile as he grasped what Erik was trying to say.

"With you, my friend, there has to be a hundred miles and a helmet between us before I can't hear your thoughts. I'm sorry for that, but I've spent so much time in your mind that it's impossible to block you out."

Erik sighed.

"I'm sorry, Charles."

"For what?"

"For all of this. For forcing you into the government takedown, for letting you get captured… all of it."

Charles smiled sadly.

"I hate to break this to you, Erik, but there are very few people in this world that can force me to do anything, and you aren't one of them."

Erik went to protest but Charles interrupted him.

"Everything that I've done, everything that's happened to me, it's been because I've _wanted_ to do this. I_ wanted_ to help rescue those mutants and I _wanted_ to help take down the government. And it's because of you, Erik, that I've been able to do any of those things at all."

The German didn't look convinced.

"You were imprisoned for over three months, Charles, because I couldn't save you."

Charles sighed.

"You were too, Erik. And if I recall correctly, I'm here because you managed to save me after all."

"Onslaught existed because of me."

"Don't give yourself that much credit—he's been a part of me for longer than I can remember."

Erik shook his head.

"I'm still sorry. For everything."

The telepath rested a hand on his friend's shoulder, feeling slightly triumphant when the latter didn't move away.

"Listen to me very carefully, my friend. I don't blame you for anything that has happened. I've had time to walk away from all of this and I haven't. Whatever has happened to me has been of my own doing. I _chose_ this life, Erik. You didn't force me into it and you're not forcing me to stay with it. I'm here because I want to be."

Erik closed his eyes and turned away.

"Why did you decide on this life?"

Charles folded his arms over his chest.

"You know why."

"I can honestly say I don't. Not after everything that I've seen recently."

The faces of all the young mutants they didn't save flashed through Charles' mind followed by the aftermath of the experiments and torture they had been too late to stop, the face of Stryker, cold and malicious. The plastic cells, the sleepless nights, the bullet wounds, the fear, the feeling of being overwhelmed… there was no end to the horrors they had witnessed.

But there were the mutants they _had_ been able to save, the safe houses they had managed to create, the inhumane acts they had managed to be in time to stop. The little girl who could change the weather who was asleep a few yards away was only alive because Erik and Charles had been able to save her.

Erik himself was one of the mutants Charles counted as having been saved, though he kept that thought to himself.

"If everything that has happened to me recently is worth the freedom of the twenty-six mutants we saved that night you broke out of the CIA without me, then that is why I stay with this life. Because we are making a difference, Erik."

Erik shook his head.

"It's not enough, Charles. It's been _three years_ and we're still being hunted. Still being treated like we're _less_ than the humans."

"We never thought this was going to be easy."

"I never thought it would be this hard, either."

A slideshow of the people Erik cared about, beginning with his mother, and ending with Charles in the middle of that CIA basement, flashed through Charles' mind, reminding the telepath that despite the strong front, Erik wasn't doing half as well as he had people believe. It was a testament to how strong the taller man was that he hadn't completely broken yet.

Charles squeezed Erik's shoulder.

"I know. But one day, the humans are going to realize just how wrong they were."

"Like the Nazis did?"

Erik pulled away from Charles and put a few feet in between them. The telepath let him go, unable to think of anything to say.

The metal bender pushed on.

"It was too late for my people when the Americans and Brits came to our rescue. It's always too late when we rescue the mutants. They're never going to be _saved_, Charles. Not all of them."

Charles closed his eyes.

"You can't think like that, Erik."

"One of us has to, Charles, because it's the truth. We can't save everyone. And it's never going to end. The hatred, the pain, the suffering… none of it. We are always going to be feared, because we have powers that no one else can match."

"So are you suggesting we just give up? Let the humans win?"

Erik violently shook his head.

"No."

"Then what are you suggesting?"

Erik looked at a loss for words. Charles continued before his friend had the chance to find them.

"We started this, knowing we weren't going to be able to save anyone. But the ones we do save will have better lives because of what we've done."

"So we should sacrifice the few for the good of the many?"

"If there was a way we could save everyone, then I would do it in a heartbeat, Erik. You know that. But there isn't. And there probably never will be. It's horrible and it's harsh, but it's life."

Erik was practically shaking.

"That's not good enough! I can't accept that other mutants are going to _die_ because _it's life_."

This was why Charles fought so hard to save Erik time and time again. Because at the end of the day, he truly did care. He wanted to save others from the fate he had suffered. He didn't want the pain and suffering for others that this world held anymore than Charles did.

"It's not fair, Erik. It was never going to _be _fair. Not for us. But we can't give up on account of that. We have to keep fighting so that others don't have to suffer the same way you did."

"You're always so quick to become a martyr, Charles, that you forget that our kind doesn't need martyrs. We've lost enough already, to Shaw, to Stryker... if we lost you, then they would win."

"You're always so quick to cast yourself as the villain that you don't realize all the good you've done in this world, Erik. You forget that you've saved me far more times than I've saved you."

"I just want this to be _over_. I'm tired of fighting a losing battle, Charles. I'm tired of losing the people that I care about."

"You haven't lost me yet."

"But in the end, I know I will. I always lose."

Charles shook his head.

"You _won't_. I'm not going anywhere, Erik."

Erik sighed and looked back at Charles, his eyes full of pain and untold suffering. In that moment, Charles' heart broke, because he knew that there was nothing he could say to convince his friend.

The metal bender smiled sadly.

"Peace was never an option for me. I know that. I've known it all along."

"That's not true."

"It is. I guess I'm just having trouble coming to terms with the fact that it's not going to be an option for any of us."

"It will be. Maybe not now, but I promise you, Erik, the mutants and humans will one day be at peace."

"I hope you're right."

_I do too_ were the words that Charles didn't say. Because Erik needed to believe that. And because Charles needed Erik to believe that. Because without hope, then there was nothing worth fighting for.

* * *

><p>There was a heavy knock at his door.<p>

Hank let out a loud, sleepy growl, already irritated. Was it too much to ask for one morning's worth of peace? Honestly, wasn't yesterday's jaunt to Texas enough excitement for one freaking morning?

There was another, more insistent knock at his door.

Apparently not.

The scientist sighed and rolled out of bed. He grabbed his glasses off the nightstand on instinct, his eyes barely open as he stumbled toward the door.

He yanked it open, fully intent on growling at whoever it was, but was brought up short when he realized it was just Sean. That alone was cause for alarm. The other teen was never up before noon.

"What, Sean?"

The redhead shook his head.

"It's Charles. He's gone."


	44. An Unusual Occurrence

_So, this chapter was originally intended to be far more epic than it turned out to be. As in, lots of Erik angst and hurt Charles. Alas, poor Yorick, that did not happen. For some reason, Erik wanted to show off his human side. Thus... this happened. _

_I apologize if this is slightly later than my somewhat once a week (occasionally twice) schedule that I've been sticking to lately. As of 10:00 PM(EST), the first part of this had not been written at all... I just randomly got inspired by omelets no less and went from there._

_I also apologize if this seems random and quirky...actually, scratch that. This entire story is random and quirky. But we'll be getting back to the deep stuff in the next chapter, where I'll also begin ramping up for the next (and final) set of cliffhangers and drama. _

_Heads up: At max there are going to be 20 more chapters. ...I know, it seems like a lot, but time's going to fly by. _

_Shameless plug: If any of you who are Hunger Games fans and haven't already checked it out, I started an XMFC/Hunger Games fic. It's called The Mutant Games. Feel free to check it out if you'd like._

_Thank you to all who have read and reviewed. I love you all-you're amazing people and if I could find each and every one of you in real life and give you a giant hug, I would. But alas, I shall only stick to sending you virtual hugs so I don't wind up on the Most Wanted list._

**The Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 44: An Unusual Occurrence**

Hank stared at Sean uncomprehendingly, attempting to come up with a reply that was more eloquent than _huh_.

"What do you mean, he's _gone_?"

There. That was acceptable.

Sean shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans and hunched his shoulders.

"I went to his room this morning and he wasn't there. So I looked everywhere else he usually is and I couldn't find him."

Hank growled, before letting out a heavy sigh.

"Is Erik still here?"

Sean shrugged.

"I don't know. I didn't exactly go looking for him."

As if called by some magical power, the front door opened downstairs. Hank's keen ears instantly recognized Erik's nearly silent footsteps striding into the house.

Hank looked at Sean.

"Well, that answers that question. C'mon, let's go see if he knows anything."

The other teen hesitated for a moment, clearly uneasy about going and confronting the metal bender. Hank didn't blame him, but he knew for Charles' sake, they should at least attempt to talk to Erik. No matter how much of a bastard he was.

Hank gave the redhead a slight, sympathetic grimace, before pushing passed him and heading down the stairs. He didn't need an overdeveloped sense of hearing to know that Sean was following him.

Erik was in the kitchen when Hank and Sean emerged on the downstairs landing. He looked almost…_normal_, with a carton of eggs on the counter and a sauce pan heating up on the stove.

He appeared to be unaware of the two teenagers ogling him, but Hank knew the older man well enough to know that he was never not aware of his surroundings.

Sean broke the slightly awkward silence.

"What are you doing?"

The German didn't even turn around, confirming Hank's suspicions.

"Making an omelet."

The words were spoken in a quiet, non-threatening voice, but the fur on the back of Hank's neck rose anyway. The scientist wasn't entirely sure why—maybe it was the all too unnatural sight of _Erik_ making breakfast.

Erik sighed, still not turning around.

"Is there anything you two want?"

Hank glanced at Sean, feeling as though since the other teen had been the one to notice Charles' absence, he should be the one to ask Erik about the telepath. But the redhead was drooling at the sight of the eggs being cooked, his mind clearly elsewhere.

The furry teen sighed. He really hated being the responsible one.

"Have you seen Charles?"

The back of Erik's head nodded.

"He's at Alex's grave with Raven."

_Oh_.

That would explain why Sean wasn't able to find him. Hank and Sean had an unspoken agreement not to visit their friend's grave. Not because they meant any disrespect to Alex, but because they both knew it would be too damn hard to face.

Erik turned around. Hank was shocked by how _exhausted_ the older man looked. Of all of the things he knew the German to be capable of, Hank had never thought being tired was one of them.

The metal bender sighed.

"He's going to be a while. Do you two need to talk to him immediately or can it wait?"

Hank once more glanced at Sean—the fact that he had noticed Charles' absence in the first place meant that he clearly needed to talk to the telepath—but once again, the redhead was rather captivated by the omelet.

The scientist resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"I think it can wait."

Erik shrugged in acquiescence.

"Do you want some breakfast?"

Hank and Sean's mouths fell open simultaneously, so quickly you could almost hear the _snap_.

What was the world coming to? The Professor killed someone and Magneto was offering to make them _breakfast_?

Sean recovered more quickly than Hank.

"God yes. We haven't had anything decent to eat since…"

He trailed off awkwardly, his brain finally having caught up with his mouth and realizing that it was probably _not_ a brilliant idea to bring up the Cuba incident if he actually wanted a decent breakfast.

Erik merely looked amused.

"Well, grab a plate. It should be done in a few minutes."

It was way too early for life to be this freaking confusing, Hank decided as he followed Sean's lead and grabbed a plate from the cabinet. This was more than likely some twisted dream of his. It had to be. There was _no_ way that _Erik_ was making breakfast.

But damn, did that omelet smell good.

He decided that even if this was some sort of sick dream, he might as well enjoy it while it lasted.

Because after all, Erik making _breakfast_ was just absurd.

* * *

><p>The following night found Charles and Erik holed up in the library, playing a game of chess. Charles was winning, though neither one was really focused on the game.<p>

For once, Onslaught was being quiet, buried under the hundreds of other thoughts and problems Charles was dealing with.

"I think we should go recruiting again soon."

Erik looked up from the chessboard in surprise.

"Are you sure, Charles?"

The telepath nodded as he pushed his queen across the board.

"Check. And yes. I think it's time we stop hiding and remind the world that we're still here."

He also had a burning desire to find out what had happened to Moira—it had been well over three months since Charles had last heard from her and he was starting to get worried. She had played an instrumental part in their escape from the CIA and if anything had happened to her because of him, he doubted he would be able to forgive himself. Especially on top of everything else that had happened as of late.

Charles half expected Erik to protest, but instead, the metal bender merely nodded as he moved his king in a hasty retreat.

"If you think you're strong enough, then we should."

The anxiety Charles had been picking up from Erik all day quickly disappeared and it took the telepath a moment to realize that Erik had been searching for a way to bring the subject up for well over a week.

_Well, that's one problem solved._

There was still the issue of what to do with the mutants in search of refuge. The twenty-six Erik had broken out of the CIA base a few months ago weren't the only ones in need of a safe place to hide, and it was looking as though that the last government raid had only increased that need.

Erik seemed to be thinking along the same lines.

"I think it's time we return to Westchester, too. The renovations should be completed by now and we're going to need Cerebro if we want to find the others."

He spoke this hesitantly and somewhat defensively, as though he were expecting Charles to protest. Upon a quick glimpse of his mind, Charles realized that Erik's hesitation was mounted in the knowledge that Onslaught came from Charles' dark past in the mansion and Erik didn't want to give the darker half another chance to take hold.

Charles was touched by the sentiment, though he knew he was strong enough to fight whatever darkness lay in wait for him at his childhood home.

He moved his knight and smiled.

"I think that's a grand idea. We'll tell the others in the morning and leave as soon as the snow clears."

Erik looked relieved as he accidentally set himself up for checkmate.

"Good."

Charles moved his bishop.

"I believe you're in checkmate, my friend."

_You're an idiot, Charlie. A naïve little idiot. _

_Shut up, Onslaught._


	45. Conversations

**An alternate title for this chapter is Ice Cream and Foreshadowing... but that's just a random fact that doesn't really matter in the grand scheme of things.**

**Anyway, I apologize for the recent lack of updates. I'm not going to bother giving excuses-I have none, outside of the usual real life getting in the way-and I don't think you guys really want excuses anyway. Just more chapters... which is what I'm now giving you.**

**I will tell you tha this chapter fought me every word of the way, so if parts of it sound a little forced, that's why. **

**I really appreciate all of your wonderful reviews! If I haven't responded to them, it's not becase I hate you. I love you all, I really do. **

**The Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 45: Conversations**

It was silent at Alex's grave, with the morning sun just beginning to come up over the trees. The atmosphere offered an air of peace and serenity, two things Charles had been searching desperately for over the past few days.

Raven's thoughts were the polar opposite, already buzzing with far too many thoughts for such an early time. Her remorse over Alex's death was plain; being so close to his grave brought out many feelings she didn't want to deal with. There were also darker thoughts of Cuba, the CIA prison, and the recent events in Texas that Charles knew he would eventually have to deal with.

The telepath sighed and wrapped his arms around Raven, pulling her close to his chest. She was in her natural form, still too weak to shift into anything else.

It was the first time since she had regained consciousness that they had had any sort of privacy to be brother and sister, and the telepath hadn't realized just how much he had missed his sister until now.

Raven twisted her head to look at him, her yellow eyes studying him with concern.

She gently touched his face.

"Are you all right?"

Charles shook his head.

"I'm just trying to process everything that's happened."

She immediately understood.

"Cain."

He nodded, and looked away, unable to bear the compassion in her eyes. It reminded him all too much of the way things used to be, and that was something he did not want to dwell on at the moment.

"It's impossible that he's alive, Raven. I…I'm not proud of what happened that night, but I do know for a fact what _did_. And his death _did_ happen."

"So then how is he still alive?"

It was the same question Charles had been asking himself for the better part of twelve hours now. It had driven him insane, keeping him up all night when his mind screamed for sleep. And he still had no answer.

He shrugged.

"I don't know. What's more troubling is the fact that he had a mutation."

Raven pressed her lips together in a thin line. She clearly knew something, something that she obviously didn't want Charles to know.

The telepath sighed.

"What is it, Raven?"

She scowled.

"I hate it when you do that."

"I wasn't in your head."

"I know. But it doesn't make it any less annoying when you can read me that well."

Charles let out a gentle, sad laugh as he ruffled her hair.

"And you do the same to me, so spill."

The annoyed, yet amused look in Raven's eyes vanished, replaced by something far darker and less easy to read. Charles recognized that look—he had seen it in the mirror that morning. It was guilt.

"Raven?"

She shook her head.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Why?"

"Because it will upset you."

She looked away, her eyes landing on her cast. And suddenly, Charles understood. This had something to do with their time apart after Cuba, the time leading up to Raven landing in jail.

Charles mentally sighed.

"I'm not mad at you for leaving, you know."

Raven looked back up at him, her yellow eyes wide.

"Really?"

He nodded.

"You were just doing what you had to. It would be rude of me not to respect that."

She smiled slightly.

"You're always so polite, Charles."

For some reason, that comment, more than anything else, reminded Charles forcefully of the fact that she had spent nearly a year with Erik.

He shoved that thought away, not wanting to dwell on it at the moment. There would be time for that later.

"You thought you knew something about Cain?"

Raven's smiled faltered and she looked away once more.

"It's nothing, really. Just bits and pieces that I've overheard."

A mental image of her waiting outside a closed door, with the sound of Erik and Azazel's muffled voices in the background floated into Charles' mind.

He wisely chose not to comment on it.

"And?"

Raven bit her lip.

"The CIA, or I should say Stryker, has been working on creating artificial mutations."

Charles' mouth fell open as he struggled to find something to say.

Of all of the things he had expected, _that_ had certainly not been one of them.

Then again, he wasn't entirely certain what all he _had been_ expecting.

He swallowed.

"How?"

Raven grimaced and became very interested in the cast on her leg.

"He's been rounding up mutants and doing genetic tests on them, trying to figure out which genes hold the key to unlocking the mutations."

_He's taking my research to the next level_, Charles realized in horror.

Raven was still talking, the words spilling faster out of her mouth.

"There was talk, when Erik and I were held captive, of Stryker creating a super mutant, to round the rest of us up."

_Fighting fire with fire._

How long had it been since McCone had said those exact same words to Moira, back when the CIA was still on their side?

Charles closed his eyes, forcing the memory away. When he opened them again, Raven looked guilty.

"I shouldn't have said anything. You're going to think it's your fault now."

The telepath made a grunt of protest.

"You were right to tell me, Raven. I needed to know."

"But you think this is your fault."

He shook his head.

"I'm more… _confused_. While that answers some of my questions, it doesn't exactly answer why Cain is still alive."

Raven sighed.

"Maybe he wasn't dead to begin with. Maybe… You were pretty out of it that night. Is it possible that you only _thought_ Cain was dead?"

Admittedly, it was an idea that had run through Charles' mind several times since his step-brother's first sighting. To be completely honest, he hoped that was the case. If it wasn't, that brought up some seriously disturbing questions.

Raven leaned her head against Charles' shoulder.

"What are we going to do now, Charles?"

He shook his head.

"I don't know. Try to gather information, I guess. Get ready for the coming fight."

"Do you think there's going to be a fight?"

"As much as I hope there's not, it would be naïve of me not to expect one."

Raven swallowed hard.

"I'm sorry, Charles."

"For what?"

"For everything. If anyone deserves a break from all of this madness, it's you."

Charles quirked a bitter smile.

"You keep forgetting you dragged you into this madness in the first place."

She shook her head.

"It's not fair for you to keep having to sacrifice everything you believe in. First Cuba, now what happened with Emma… this isn't fair, Charles."

He let out a sad chuckle.

"Life isn't fair, Raven."

"But it seems like it's less fair to you than to anyone else."

"It's all right."

Raven buried her face against Charles' chest.

"No, it's not. None of this is. And you know it."

Charles sighed as he rested his chin against her hair.

"If it's the price I have to pay to keep the people I love safe, then I'll gladly pay it."

"You don't have to be a martyr, Charles."

"I know. But it suits me."

Raven shook her head at his sad attempt at humor. She twisted her neck so she could look him in the eyes, looking utterly serious.

"Being dead is not a good look for anyone. And I know that you're still here, but Erik told me how close it was yesterday. You _can't_ keep doing this to yourself, Charles. You can't do this to _me_. We still need you. More than your demons, more than Stryker, more than anyone. Never forget that."

* * *

><p>A month passed.<p>

Then another.

As winter began to slowly transition into spring, Charles and Erik found themselves busier than ever. They were back to their normal recruit mutants and terrorize the CIA any chance they got way of life. It was going fairly well, too, what, with ten new mutants at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, which was now back up and running in Charles' mansion and Erik getting to thwart Stryker at every turn.

However, not everything was running smoothly. Four months had passed since that horrible night of the CIA breakout, and there was still no word of Moira. Stryker, on the other hand, seemed to be growing stronger than ever, despite his failure of keeping Charles in prison.

Charles seemed to have taken his own advice to heart in making sure the world didn't forget about the mutants. Whenever they went on a recon mission in the CIA, the subsequent fallout of that always made the media. It had happened before, but never before had Charles made it so obvious that it was the mutants behind things.

Part of Erik was glad that they were basically declaring war on the humans that fought against the evolution of their own race, but another part of him was worried. He knew what the consequences of what they were doing would be.

But like most of Charles' plans, this one seemed to work out for the better. Instead of condemning the mutants immediately, the press seemed to be siding with them, encouraging their antics at times. There was an uproar when bits and pieces of what was going on behind those bars wound up on the six o'clock news after one particular mission.

The CIA responded with firm denial, denying even the fact that the mutants existed in the first place. Charles and Erik became two of the most wanted people in the country. This tactic had limited success—the Human Rights Activists (a new group formed upon the realization that mutants were, in fact, _real_ and could be slightly dangerous) gained more supporters, but at the same time, more and more people were beginning to sympathize with the mutants' plight.

There was a storm building on the horizon. No matter how much Charles wished it wasn't going happen and no matter how much Erik hoped he was wrong, they both knew the end was coming.

* * *

><p>Erik sat alone in the kitchen when Charles hobbled in a few hours later. Hank had retreated to his lab in the basement and Sean was off doing whatever it was that he did.<p>

Raven was mysteriously absent from her brother's side, a sight Erik found odd. Ever since the telepath had returned from Texas, the shape shifter had attached herself to his side, leaving only when she fell asleep and he left.

Charles had yet to notice Erik as he crossed the threshold of the kitchen and paused. He looked more exhausted than Erik ever remembered seeing him, with dark bags underneath his bloodshot eyes and a gaunt look to his face. His hair was no longer carefully styled—instead, it hung loose and kept getting in the telepath's face. His entire look of exhaustion was completed with the hunched way he was standing, with one hand pressed against his back, and his mouth tightened into a thin line.

Erik sighed.

"You should really have someone take a look at your back, if it's bothering you that much."

Charles turned, clearly unsurprised to find the metal bender sitting in utter silence.

"It's not that bad."

"Yet."

The telepath sighed, conceding the point.

"Do you want anything to eat?"

Erik shook his head, thinking back in amusement to the rather awkward breakfast he had earlier.

Charles shrugged, crossing the kitchen at a limp to the refrigerator. Erik absently debated holding the thing shut until Charles agreed to get help for his back, but he didn't feel like wasting the energy.

It was quiet, as Charles pulled out a large tub of ice cream and a spoon, before joining Erik at the table.

Erik raised an eyebrow in silent questioning.

Charles merely shrugged as he opened the tub of ice cream.

"After the week I've had, I think I'm entitled to some ice cream."

There wasn't anything to say to that, so the metal bender decided that a subject change was in order.

"I think we should spy on the CIA. Maybe even break in."

He half-expected an argument. He was surprised when Charles merely nodded.

"I agree."

Erik's mouth fell open.

"You what?"

Charles smiled slightly and pushed away the ice cream.

"I've been thinking about this for a while. Quite a while, actually, since you and Raven were first abducted. We need information about what the CIA is working on, and that's the only way to do it."

Erik stared, dumbfounded.

"You're serious."

"I am."

Something told Erik there was more to Charles' easy agreement, but the metal bender found he didn't want to push it.

For now.

However, there was another matter he needed to press, and the telepath had presented the perfect opportunity.

"You need to get your back taken care of. You'll do us no good if you get captured because your back gives out."

Charles grimaced, but nodded anyway.

"Fair enough. I'll have Hank take a look at it."

"And I want to be there."

"Are you saying you don't trust me, Erik?"

"I trust you with my life. With yours, however, no. I don't. Not in the slightest."

The telepath let out a heavy sigh.

"I guess I deserved that after everything that's happened."

Erik folded his hands on top of the table and raised an eyebrow.

"You think?"

"To be fair, your mind _was_ in the process of being erased for good, though. And Hank never guaranteed how long his wonder-cure would last."

"Charles…"

The younger man shook his head.

"If you want me to apologize for saving your life, it's not going to happen. After everything that's happened—after everything I've told you—I reserve the right to keep the people I care about alive. Now, if you have a problem with that, then you know damn well where the door is."

With that, he stood and strode calmly out of the room, leaving Erik dumbfounded as to what the hell just happened.


	46. News and Plans

**So, somewhere along the way, I got off track in the alternating past/present bits of this story. In a perfect reality, the second half of this chapter should, in all rights, come first, because it does a ton of setting up for the first half of this chapter. But, alas, if I attempted to fix it at this stage in the game, it would screw everything else up... and most of it is already set in stone anyway. So, I apologize in advance for the mass amounts of confusion this chapter will probably cause. If it helps, skip to the line break, read the second half first, and then read the first half. **

**Yay! I didn't take two months to update! Woot! Enjoy. The next chapter should be up within the week.**

**The Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 46: News and Plans**

It came down to a single piece of paper, hidden inside one of the eight dozen files that Raven had pilfered from the CIA during her last mission.

Charles, Erik, Raven, Sean, and Hank were all gathered in the kitchen while the other mutants were training outside.

The piece of paper was lying flat on the table, severely crumpled from where Charles had clenched his fists tightly around it, and taped back together in some places from where Erik hadn't managed to control his anger.

Cain Marko was to be Stryker's lynchpin. The rope with which the mutants hung themselves.

Charles scowled.

"This is impossible."

Erik glanced at the paper over the telepath's shoulder and sighed.

"Hasn't he died twice now?"

"Apparently not."

The metal bender let out a growl that encompassed everything Charles longed to say, but wouldn't in the company of four other mutants.

Raven muttered something incoherent that was along the lines of _this is just effing fantastic_, before speaking up.

"How did he survive this time?"

Charles gave her a one-shouldered shrug.

"The CIA _is_ based in espionage. It wouldn't be that hard to fake someone's death."

She scowled, as did Erik.

"Makes you wonder what _else_ they're hiding."

Charles rubbed his forehead, trying to alleviate the growing pain in his skull. With Onslaught becoming more and more vocal with each mission, Charles' insomnia, and the fact that he had to deal with dozens of tense, frustrated minds on a daily basis, it was no wonder that his head felt like it was about to explode.

Erik sent Charles a concerned glance, which the telepath proceeded to ignore.

"Right. There's no use in panicking over things that we cannot control."

He received five identical scowls.

Raven spoke first.

"_Cain_ is alive. After he was declared dead in Texas three years ago, not to mention in New York ages before that."

Charles opened his mouth to protest, but Erik cut across him.

"She's right, Charles. We have to figure out how and why Stryker is using him."

It was pretty obvious to Charles and it should have been to Raven and Erik. This went far beyond normal mutant hatred. This was personal. This was Stryker's revenge for what happened nearly four months ago.

He shoved the increasingly dark thought out of his mind for the time being and turned to Hank, who was standing quietly behind Raven with his arms folded over his chest.

"What do you think about this, Hank?"

The scientist blinked, obviously not expecting the question. He recovered quickly when all eyes turned to look at him.

"I think we need to be a little more thorough checking for death certificates. And for bodies in graves."

Charles stared, having not expected the glib remark from Hank of all people. Raven, yes. Erik, possibly. But not Hank.

It relieved the tension, however, drawing out wearied chuckles from the others in the room.

Charles cracked a slight smile.

"Stellar advice, Hank. Thank you for that wonderful contribution."

Hank gave a one-shouldered shrug as an apology, before sighing heavily.

"There's not much we _can_ do at the moment, though. Stryker's obviously got an end game that none of us can predict."

Erik's scowl deepened.

"We need more information."

Raven shook her head.

"It was dangerous enough getting this one piece of information. If we try for any more, then one of us is going to get caught. And no matter how much the press loves us, if Stryker catches us, you know he will kill us this time."

She looked at Charles pointedly when she said this. He once more pretended not to notice.

Erik let out a wordless growl as he took up prowling around the kitchen like a caged tiger.

Charles looked back at the paper and mentally sighed. This was a mess, for a myriad of reasons. The first, and perhaps the most daunting, was the fact that Cain could be the first of many synthetic mutants. Stryker could very well be building an army of them and Charles' merry band of rebels would never know anything about it until it was too late.

The second was the fact that Cain kept coming back to life. The first time had been bad enough, but was thankfully cut short by his sudden death at the hands of an enraged gunman. This time, however, Charles got the feeling his former step-brother wasn't going to go away so easily. Stryker obviously had some torture in mind for Charles and it was only a matter of what exactly it was going to be.

The third was Charles' decision on what to do about Stryker. It was obvious to him that if Stryker were taken out of the game, then maybe things would be easier for mutants.

_But you don't have what it takes. _

Onslaught's voice was hardly surprising, but it did cause Charles to still ever so slightly. Thankfully, all of the others were too focused on arguing with each other to notice.

Charles closed his eyes briefly, and sighed.

_You know I don't. _

The telepath's alter ego snorted.

_He is going to _kill _all of your precious little pets if you don't do something about him. And soon._

Charles clenched his teeth together and resisted the urge to bang his head against the kitchen table. It wouldn't have helped, and only drawn suspicious attention.

_And if I let you free, you'll kill them anyway._

There was an uncomfortable moment of silence in Charles' mind as Onslaught mulled this thought over.

_What if I promised I wouldn't?_

It was Charles' turn to snort, but he was brought up short by the earnestness in Onslaught's voice. There was obviously something the alter ego was planning that Charles wasn't aware of.

_And what do you mean by that?_

The truth was shocking, to say the least. Charles struggled to keep the surprise off his face as Onslaught outlined his plan.

_Why would you do this?_

Onslaught gave the equivalency of a mental shrug.

_No matter how different we are, I come from you. Whatever else may stand between us, at the heart of us both, we are the same person. I've come to care about these people as much as you have._

Had the alter ego said any of that a month ago, Charles would have scoffed. But it was a testament to how much both of them had changed that he accepted it without question.

Still…

_You would really be willing to sacrifice yourself for these people?_

_Yes._

For some reason, Charles' eyes rested on Erik. The metal bender looked worn, but determined, clearly ready to find some sort of solution that would save them all. It was a look said he would be willing to do whatever it took to save the ones they cared about. Even if it meant his own death.

It was then that Charles accepted Onslaught's plan as genuine. Because if someone as broken as Erik could find it in himself to find something he was willing to sacrifice himself for, then maybe Onslaught could too.

Erik looked up at that moment, his eyes meeting Charles'. He cocked his head slightly in question, but the telepath merely shook his head. The metal bender scowled slightly, clearly sensing something was going on, before looking back at the paper.

Charles sighed.

_All right._

Onslaught made a contented noise before drifting back off into silence.

Charles swallowed heavily, wondering not for the last time if he made the right choice in deciding to trust his alter ego.

But then he looked at Erik and Raven, the two people he cared about most in the world, and realized he didn't have a choice. If it came down to trusting Onslaught or watching the people he loved get killed on account of him, then Charles would choose Onslaught every single time.

He just hoped he could live with the consequences.

* * *

><p>It was all over the news later that week.<p>

The gunman responsible for the assassination of John F. Kennedy had, in turn, been shot and killed merely a few days before he was to stand trial.

If Charles hadn't known Erik's exact whereabouts over the past week, he would have suspected the metal bender of being involved.

"He's dead."

It was all Charles could say as he stared at the picture of Cain's face staring up at him from the kitchen table.

Erik sat across from him, his arms crossed, looking annoyed. Without even bothering to look into his friend's mind, Charles immediately knew that it was because someone had beaten Erik to the punch.

The metal bender sighed.

"For real this time?"

Charles shrugged.

"The article says he was shot through the heart. Announced dead on scene."

Erik scowled

"That seems too easy."

"You think everything is too easy."

"He was one of Stryker's possible synthetic mutants, clearly able to mind control everyone, and obviously a valuable asset. Now he's dead, just like that?"

Charles shrugged again.

"According to the papers."

Erik snorted.

"I don't believe that. The CIA wouldn't just let one of their experiments die."

"Well, maybe they shouldn't have let him assassinate the President. That clearly ticked someone off."

The metal bender stared, obviously not appreciating the glib humor.

Charles resisted the urge to sigh.

"Look, Cain has been declared dead. Maybe we should take this as a blessing instead of a curse and focus instead on our upcoming mission."

The taller man still looked tense, but Charles sensed a victory.

"If this comes back and bites us in the ass, I'm blaming you, Charles."


	47. Of Ultimatums and Idiots

_Well, I was originally going to use this space to explain to you why exactly I started this story (I DO HAVE A PLAN, BELIEVE IT OR NOT), but then I decided I'd wait another chapter and explain it after you've read this one... :) So you'll have to wait until next week to figure that out. _

_Anyway. Third chapter in under four days. I'm on a roll! Well, that's because we're nearing the end of the story, and I'm having a little too much fun writing the end. So, enjoy it while it lasts! _

**The Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 47: Of Ultimatums and Idiots**

Erik folded his arms across his chest and glared at Charles from across the library.

"I'm coming."

The telepath shook his head as he set down his book.

"You're barely able to stand up, let alone break into one of the most secure prisons the CIA has to offer. You're staying here."

Raven, on one of her many covert operations, had uncovered a prison on Three Mile Island where Stryker was keeping dozens of mutant children. Charles, Hank, and Sean were planning on a raid to free the children that night.

Erik, of course, wanted to come along. But earlier that week he had developed a nasty case of pneumonia, and as Charles had already said, could still barely stand up.

Coughs wracked through the metal bender's frame as he glared at Charles.

"You need help. Beast and Banshee aren't going to be enough. Stryker is angry enough without you waltzing in to free his captives."

This argument would have been far more persuasive had Erik not had to stop every other word to catch his breath.

Charles let out a weary sigh.

"No."

"I'm not a glorified babysitter, goddamnit. I'm here to help you save these mutants. I can't do that stuck in this godforsaken mansion with the children!"

The telepath leveled Erik with a glare that was part amusement, part annoyance.

"It's not that I don't want you to come, Erik. But at the moment, you'll do far more harm than good if you come along."

Erik returned the glare with all the stubbornness he could muster, which, in reality, wasn't all that effective.

"Then we wait until I can go."

Charles shook his head.

"We can't."

"Why not?"

"Because they're just _children_, Erik! Every second we wait is another second they're wrongfully imprisoned!"

They glared at each other for a moment, before Erik looked away and coughed.

"Fine."

Charles raised an eyebrow at the soft admission.

"Come again?"

Erik looked back to Charles, obviously defeated.

"You're right. They're kids. They shouldn't have to spend any more time than necessary in that hell hole."

Charles rose from his chair and crossed the library to clap a hand on Erik's shoulder.

"We'll only be gone a few hours. And I'll keep you in here the entire time."

He tapped a finger to his head with a slight smile.

Erik returned it hesitantly.

"If anything goes wrong…"

"I'll make sure you are able to get to Three Mile Island and cough on everyone."

The metal bender rolled his eyes, but gratitude poured off him in waves. Charles didn't need to be a telepath to know where most of Erik's anxiety lay—all too often, it was Charles who had been forced to stay behind, and he knew just how stressful it was.

Charles gently nudged Erik toward a chair by the roaring fire.

"Go sit down. I'll have Raven bring you some tea in a little while. Hank, Sean, and I should be back by midnight."

Erik nodded once.

"Charles?"

The telepath turned.

"Yes?"

"Be careful. I don't want to have to come after you again."

* * *

><p>A week later found Charles nearly unconscious on one of Hank's lab tables, with an angered Erik looming over him, and an anxious looking Hank holding a syringe filled with a dark red liquid. Raven and Sean stood outside, looking pale and frightened.<p>

Erik looked as though he were ready to start murdering anyone who came too close.

"You are a goddamn _moron_, Charles."

The telepath opened his eyes, which had been clenched shut with pain, and glared at Erik. It was a rather impressive glare, given the terrifying expression on the taller man's face.

"Shut up, Erik."

Erik threw his hands up in the air and the metal in the room vibrated ominously.

"You could have gotten yourself killed! What the hell were you thinking?"

They had just returned from an information gathering mission, during which, Charles' back had given out and he had wound up trapped in a supply closet in the CIA headquarters for over an hour.

Charles' glare intensified.

"If I hadn't gone with you, you would have gotten yourself killed."

That wasn't entirely the truth. In reality, it was because of Charles that Erik had almost gotten himself killed. When the telepath's back had given out, he had been in so much pain that he had lost control of his powers and the defenses he had carefully put into place. Erik had been almost out of the headquarters when this happened and was seen by a security guard, who proceeded to open fire with his machine gun. Luckily, Erik was able to dispatch him before going back in for Charles, while the others merely managed to escape without too much notice.

Erik snorted.

"Right. I'm sure my getting shot at was your way of trying to save my life."

It was a low, unnecessarily cruel blow that left Erik feeling immediately guilty. Charles would never purposefully endanger someone else's life, let alone Erik's, but the fact remained that by ignoring his own well-being, he _had_ and Erik nearly paid for the mistake.

Charles sighed, visibly deflating as the fight went out of him.

"I'm sorry."

Erik growled, before storming toward Raven and Sean.

"Get out of here."

Sean immediately disappeared. Raven looked slightly more defiant, but with one rather heated glare from Erik, she too took off.

Hank looked considerably more nervous.

It was Charles' turn to growl.

"You don't need to bully everyone on account of me, Erik."

It was a not so subtle warning that the telepath was pissed off and that Erik should really think twice about his next words.

True to character, Erik ignored the warning.

"If you paid a little more attention to yourself every now and then, instead of trying to get yourself killed, then maybe I wouldn't have to."

Charles' jaw clenched.

"If you spent less time on a warpath for revenge and a little more time looking after those you care about, then maybe I wouldn't need to!"

The temperature in the room dropped a few degrees as Erik leveled Charles with his best glare.

"Don't you dare blame what happened on me. This was _your_ fault, god damn it. You were careless and slipped up!"

"Because of what happened when _you_ got careless and slipped up!"

Charles' pain marred what should have been a defiant shout, forcibly reminding Erik of why exactly they were here in Hank's lab in the first place. Guilt replaced the rapidly cooling anger as he looked away and slumped his shoulders.

"You're right."

The telepath sighed angrily at Erik's remorseful whisper.

"No, I'm not. And you know it."

Silence, tensed and edged fell over the lab.

Hank swallowed heavily, reminding Charles and Erik they weren't the only two in the room. They both looked at him with a mixture of annoyance and apology.

"I should probably give you the shot now."

The scientist gestured to the red serum in the syringe, which was the liquid that would restore Charles' back.

Erik and Charles exchanged one more look, this one far less charged than any of their others, and speaking far louder to what they were both feeling. The metal bender was very obviously frightened over what happened and what it could have meant in the grand scheme of things, while Charles was feeling tremendously guilty for almost getting Erik killed.

It was a silent apology, one that would never be spoken aloud.

Charles looked away first.

"All right, Hank."

Erik began edging out of the lab, but Charles' soft whisper stopped him.

"Stay."

Both Hank and Erik looked at him curiously, but the telepath merely ducked and shook his head.

The metal bender let out a weary sigh and stalked back over to the lab table. He shook his head fondly.

"You're a goddamn moron, Charles."


	48. Erik and Raven

_First of all, this is the last chapter of "something is wrong with Charles, let's all bitch about it." I think this chapter both sums it all up and adds a little more, while simultaneously making it the most redundant plot line I think I've ever written. Anyway. This is the last one expounding about that. We shall move on after this._

_Secondly, for those of you feeling like there hasn't been nearly enough Erik/Raven interaction in this story... there is a ton of it in this chapter. Enjoy. And, as a point of fact, this might be one of the final ones not written in Charles' POV... though I'm not entirely sure if it is the last._

_And finally, the point of this story. As I mentioned in the last chapter, Charles is off to rescue mutant children at Three Mile Island. For those of you who have seen Origins: Wolverine, you'll know that that's where Stryker had a lot of mutant children and experiments going on (and Deadpool, and Remy and a bunch of others)... and those of you who have seen that movie will also know just how out of sync that movie was with all of the others. And truth be told, XMFC was really out of sync with the others too (No, really. Watch Last Stand and you'll understand what I mean. Pay special attention to the flashback scenes with little Jean. Charles was walking in some of them... which would be impossible, given his gunshot wound at the end of XMFC). Now, what this story was originally intended to do was to fill in all of those plot holes. In some ways, that still is (as you'll find out in the next chapter), but it's not it's sole purpose anymore. I had a little too much fun creating my own universe._

_That said, I do have an epilogue written that ties this story in with the original trilogy, and thus, tie all of the movies together. But... that is no longer my sole intention, so any mistakes I do make in concerning both the adventure to Three Mile Island (which will be the main focus of the next chapter) and in the epilogue tying everything together will just be because this is now it's own little world._

_And on that note, I want to say this story really isn't an AU to XMFC... so I shall now be taking the AU out of the plot summary._

_I apologize for being so talkative tonight... but hey, you do get a fourth chapter in five days. Enjoy. :) _

**The Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 48: Erik and Raven**

Raven had been gone for too long.

Erik had retreated to his room not long after Charles, Sean, and Hank had left for Three Mile Island. Raven had eventually found him there, bringing with her a bowl of soup and coffee. When he had finished, Raven volunteered to take the dishes back to the kitchen and left.

That had been over an hour ago.

Unless Raven had gotten lost on her way back to Erik's room, something had happened. Something bad. And Erik's instincts were screaming at him that something was wrong.

He slowly climbed off his bed, gritting his teeth while waiting for the world to stop spinning. Charles hadn't been wrong earlier when he had told Erik the metal bender was still too weak to go on a mission.

Outside his bedroom, the mansion was silent. A little too silent, given how loud Raven tended to be when she was at home.

Out of habit, Erik reached out with his powers, doing a sweep of all the metal in the house. While he wasn't a telepath and couldn't sense people's minds like Charles, Erik was fairly adept at being able to tell when there was extra metal in the house, which generally tipped him off to a stranger in the house. Half of the time, Erik could figure out when there was someone else in the house before Charles, which was saying a lot.

Sure enough, in the entrance hall of the mansion, there was a lot more metal than normal. Erik guessed the metal belonged to a handgun, and the handgun belonged to whoever had silenced Raven.

There were no immediate weapons in the house—Charles didn't like to have them around the children. Not that any of them truly needed weapons… but still, in moments like this, Erik wouldn't have minded a little extra backup.

He crept through the house, hoping and praying that none of the children woke up before he could subdue the threat.

Part of Erik thought to alert Charles to what was going on, but a larger part of him pushed that away. Even sick, he was fairly certain he could take down whoever was waiting for him downstairs.

He stopped when he reached the stairs, pausing to peer down the staircase.

Raven was nowhere in sight. Instead, there was a face Erik had only seen once in person, but countless of times in CIA photographs.

Cain.

The synthetic mutant immediately sensed Erik's presence.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are, little metal wielder. I know you're watching me."

Erik swallowed hard. To say the least, this was bad.

He straightened, forcing back the dizziness that threatened to overcome him. He walked slowly down the stairs, searching desperately for an escape route in case things went south.

_Charles, if you're listening, you need to come back. **Now.**_

It was his last thought before something stung the back of his neck and everything went black.

* * *

><p>Sean disappeared the moment he and Raven reached the main level of the mansion. For a brief moment, she considered going after them, but decided against it. After everything that had happened that day, he deserved a little time to himself.<p>

She let out a weary sigh, before heading into the library. It seemed unnaturally big without Charles' presence filling it, but it still felt far more welcoming than any of the other rooms.

Raven crossed room and sat down in Charles' usual chair. The book he had been reading was still on the coffee table.

All of this had suddenly become too real for her. Sure, there had been that time she had spent in jail, being tortured, but that was _nothing_ compared to the stark fear she had felt as Erik had carried a nearly unconscious Charles out of the CIA facility.

People were going to get hurt. People she cared about and never wanted anything to happen to would get hurt. Some could even _die_.

The thought hit a little too close to home, especially after how close of a call Texas had been.

A single tear slid down her face. Raven was quick to hide it at the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs, not wanting anyone to see just how much this had rattled her.

Erik walked into the library, clearly lost in his own thoughts, for he didn't notice Raven until he was standing right in front of her.

The metal wielder blinked and looked slightly apologetic.

"What are you doing in here?"

Raven shrugged. He was perhaps one of the only two people in the entire world she would actually give an honest answer to.

"Hiding from the world."

He smiled slightly, taking the chair opposite her.

"Charles is going to be fine. He's sleeping now."

She curled her knees up to her chin.

"Is he going to be okay?"

She didn't mean just in the short term, about her brother's back. That, Raven was confident would be all right.

No, what was troubling her now was his mental state. It was obvious, at least to her, that Charles had been suffering since Texas. Raven had gone to Hank, the one person outside of Erik she trusted to give her the truth, and what he had said had alarmed her.

Hank had mentioned bits and pieces about Charles' growing powers and their toll they were having. Hallucinations, apparently, were becoming more and more common. More often than not, Charles would reference conversations he and Hank had never had, and wouldn't realize what had happened until someone said something. He apparently had constant migraines whenever he overused his telepathy, which, in itself wouldn't be that alarming if they hadn't started lasting for days, if not weeks after the fact. Charles seemed to be losing control over his telepathy, too, which would cause backlashes in his emotions, causing him to do stupid things such as punch walls when he became angry or drown his sorrow in alcohol when he became depressed.

This wasn't normal Charles behavior. At least, not the Charles Raven remembered from before the Cuban Missile Crisis. There had to be something happening, some _evil_ that was causing Charles to be like this. This couldn't be the normal progression of telepathic powers. If Charles continued on like this, according to Hank, the man would be dead within a year.

Raven refused to sit around and watch her brother kill himself. Not if she could stop it.

Erik shrugged slightly.

"I don't know. Some days… some days, he's fine. Other days, he goes to Texas and shoots another telepath in the head, discovers his dead step brother isn't actually dead, and then goes on a suicidal romp through a CIA base."

Sarcasm did little to mar just how concerned Erik was.

She shook her head, tears stinging her eyes once more.

"It was too close, Erik."

The taller mutant let out a weary sigh.

"I know."

"Do you?"

Her soft spoken challenge made Erik wince. Raven immediately felt guilty—she hadn't intended to hurt him.

"I'm sorry, Erik. That's not what I meant."

He shook his head.

"Charles is your brother. I would have to be an idiot to not understand what that means to you."

There was a dark sadness in his voice, one that Raven had heard countless of times before. She knew that there were things in his past, things that not even Charles knew about, that often caused Erik to feel more remorseful than anyone thought him capable. She had seen bits and pieces of this Erik during their year together, but she had never fully appreciated what it meant until now.

A soft sigh escaped her.

"He's as much a brother to you as he is to me. I know you would never want to see him hurt."

Erik scowled slightly.

"I wish _he_ would understand that."

Raven smiled softly.

"He's Charles. He never realizes just how much he means to other people. Or how his blatant disregard for himself effects those around him."

"He's just trying to help."

She swallowed hard around the sudden lump in her throat. Yes, that was the truth, but the harsher reality was…

"He almost got himself killed. He almost got _you_ killed."

Erik closed his eyes.

"Your brother, for all of his intelligence, is a moron. His greatest enemy will always be himself."

"We can't lose him, Erik. I've tried living without him… it didn't work. I don't want to do that again."

A muscle in Erik's jaw clenched, alerting Raven to the fact that she wasn't the only one who had been thinking along those lines as of late.

The older mutant let out a weary sigh.

"I can't promise you that we won't lose him. But I will do my best to protect him."

A year ago, Erik would never have been in a position to make that promise. The fact that he said it now and meant it showed just how much of an affect Charles had had on him in recent months.

Raven took comfort in Erik's words, knowing they were the truth. Of all Erik's faults, lying had never been one of them, and because of that, she found herself more able to accept his word than anyone else's.

That, and they both knew just how much they would lose if they lost Charles.


	49. Unexpected Encounters

_Why yes. This is your fifth update in six days. _

_Point of interest: The first part of this chapter takes place roughly an hour before the present section of the last chapter. The second part of this chapter takes place about two-four weeks after the past section of the last chapter. _

_And as for all of you who are concerned about my most recent admission: A Brazilian writer once said, everything will be okay in the end. If it's not okay, then it's not the end. I'll leave you to decide your definition of okay. That's all I'm saying about that._

_One final thing: I wrote the first half of this chapter at 4:00 in the morning, after seeing the Dark Knight Rises. Any mistakes are therefore due to that._

**The Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 49: Unexpected Encounters**

Charles pressed up against the wall, hardly daring to breathe as the security guards jogged by. He sighed shakily, thanking whatever god was out there that his ability allowed him some invisibility.

The telepath waited until the guards rounded a corner before he dared move again. He glanced back, raising and bending two fingers toward the corner down the hallway. Sean and Hank appeared simultaneously from opposite ends of the hallway, looking around cautiously, before making their way cautiously over to Charles.

Sean folded his arms over his chest and looked around anxiously.

"That was too close, Professor."

A small smile played at Charles' lips.

"Live a little, Sean."

The redhead narrowed his eyes, but relaxed ever so slightly.

Hank let out a slight growl, showing just how nervous he was.

"Do we have an actual plan or are we just going to sneak through the base until we find the children?"

Charles resisted the urge to roll his eyes, making a mental note to ensure that Hank and Erik spent less time around each other.

"From what I've gleaned from the guards' minds, the children are down the stairs and to the-."

He broke off mid sentence as another mind caught his attention.

_Stryker._

The newly promoted colonel wasn't supposed to be here. That was why Charles had decided to come tonight, and why he hadn't needed Erik to come. Stryker was supposed to be at CIA headquarters. Not here.

_Shit._

This was very not good.

Hank growled again.

"What's wrong?"

Charles held up a hand for silence, while simultaneously casting his mind out to see what was happening.

There was another mutant in the base, one who held as much hatred for Stryker as Charles did. His mind felt familiar, as if Charles had once touched it before.

A memory of a dimly lit bar back before _everything_ floated through the telepath's mind and he immediately understood.

The telepath was suddenly faced with two choices: he could risk exposing himself to Stryker, or he could help ease the other mutant's path to Stryker and let that mutant do the freeing of the mutants.

Sean shifted restlessly behind Charles.

"What are we waiting for?"

A faint smile briefly crossed the telepath's face as he made a decision.

"A little extra help. Boys, we need to get back to the plane. Now."

Simultaneous protests erupted from the younger mutants. Charles held up a hand for silence, pleased when it worked.

"I'm asking you to trust me and not to ask questions until we're back at the plane. Can you do that?"

He received two solemn nods, which he returned with one of his own.

"Good. Now let's go."

As the trio turned and headed back the way they had come, Charles once more reached out with his mind. For this plan to work, he needed someone to lead the other children. He highly doubted his recently acquired acquaintance would do that.

His hear skipped a beat as his mind linked with a mind that felt all too hauntingly familiar.

It wasn't an exact match—this mind was a few years younger, and one that Charles had never been in before. But still…

The mind belonged to Scott Summers. Alex's younger brother.

* * *

><p>Pain. Suffering. <em>Terror<em>. Never ending, heart wrenching, choking _fear_.

It was all around him. It was threatening to become him. There was nothing he could do to stop this, nothing to take away the pain and the sadness that took the place of oxygen in that jail block.

Charles sank to his knees, his fingers flying to his temples in a vain attempt to block the horrifying emotions emitting from every single cell.

Erik stood behind him, a quiet presence of calm in the midst of a whirlpool of raging emotions. Without thinking, Charles latched on to his friend's mind and held on for dear life.

_Were the others like this?_

The metal bender's silence more than an answer, one that Charles didn't even want to think about.

He swallowed hard, trembling violently as he attempted to get to his knees.

This was too much. He had known things were bad for the mutants who were rounded up—Erik's lingering injuries were proof enough to that—but to actually see and _feel_ it firsthand…

Erik's hand rested gently, yet firmly on Charles' shoulder, anchoring the telepath and preventing him from being taken into the interminable sea of despair.

"We don't have much time."

There was only stark grimness in the metal bender's voice, where Charles knew there should have been accusations and a distinct feeling of _I told you so_. Because Erik had, so many, many times before. He had warned Charles before any of this started, but Charles was too arrogant—too naïve—to believe in the true horrors of this world.

_We have common enemies. They need us._

_For now._

The chess match in front of Lincoln's memorial floated through Charles' mind. He closed his eyes against the tears that burned his eyes—how could he have been so _stupid?_

The humans had never needed the mutants. Not even when it was a mutant threat they were facing. Nor had they ever wanted the mutants—the beach had proved that much.

Erik had been right all along. Human kind was a scared race, fighting for its survival, willing to destroy their next stage of the evolution, instead of working together.

And here was proof. Sheer, tangible, incontrovertible proof that everything Erik had feared and warned about was right. That the humans were really this cruel and everything Charles had hoped to believe would happen never would.

"Charles…"

Erik's soft voice was full of understanding and sorrow.

Charles shook his head.

"I never realized…"

He trailed off, not knowing quite how to finish that sentence.

The hand on Charles' shoulder tightened, conveying that Erik knew and understood.

Of course he did.

But there was a sadness to the metal bender that Charles could feel underneath all of the other pain and suffering in the room. Erik hadn't wanted to be right about this—he had longed to be wrong about this, even when he knew it was an impossibility.

Charles took a deep, shuddering breath.

"We need to get them out of here."

Erik nodded once, his face full of compassion and grief. Had Charles not been so distraught about the current conditions of his fellow mutants, he would have been proud of that expression.

There were a few faint clicks as Erik manipulated the metal doors to open.

Charles reached out with his powers as the emotions in the cells took a turn for fear.

_It's all right. We're here to help you. You're safe now. You can come out._

It physically pained Charles to touch the minds of these mutants. None of these mutants remembered what it meant to be free—all they remembered was pain and unceasing fear. Their minds were so twisted from their horrors that they were no longer capable of coherency.

They were nothing more than wild animals, cornered and frightened, shrinking away from Charles' promise of hope because they didn't understand it.

A tear slid down Charles' face as his mind touched that of a young child. She was barely nine-years-old. She was capable of starting a fire with a snap of her fingers. But the CIA had tortured her, pushing her far past the limits of what she could do, stripping away at her humanity in the process. There was nothing left in her, no sign of life, no sign of yearning to be free.

It was the same in the other ten mutants.

"Erik…"

Charles' voice came out in a tangled sob as he realized these mutants were beyond saving. They had been pushed past the point of physical and emotional endurance. There was no hope for them—not even Charles could save their minds.

Bile rose in Charles' throat. This was Hell and it existed because of him. Because of his stupid hope that maybe, just maybe, everyone could live in peace.

That was never going to happen. And now, eleven mutants were forced to pay the price.

_It was never the humans who needed us. It was the mutants. Our own kind._

Why couldn't he have listened to Erik so long ago? _Why_ had it been so hard to believe that the humans would turn against them? It was what humans did. It was what they had always done.

_Some genius you are_.

"Charles."

Erik's gentle reminder brought Charles out of his haze of self-hatred and blame.

The telepath shook his head.

"They're too far gone."

"Schibe. I was afraid of that."

"I'm going to put them out of their misery."

Charles' voice was surprisingly steady and somehow, he was able to meet Erik's sorrowful gaze.

Erik nodded once.

"Do you want me to…?"

He trailed off, gesturing to the cells.

Charles shook his head, understanding immediately what his friend was trying to ask. While he appreciated it, he knew that Erik couldn't come.

"No. This is something I've got to do for myself."


	50. Surprises

_I apologize that you guys had to wait a week between updates. I know. It's tragic, especially after getting five updates in six days. _

_So, the overall tone of this chapter is a lot lighter than the last couple have been. Some of you may argue that it's a little too light, given what I ended the last chapter with... but I couldn't write another soul-sucking despair chapter._

_That, and I promised that there would be no more of the "Charles is broken and irreperable" chapters and I'm sticking to that. _

_And, that whole three or four chapters left thing I might have expounded on in prior chapters? Ha. Lies. All of it. I realized today I need to do a lot of editing/adding on to later parts of this story, and thus, added like another twenty chapters to the story. Sigh. I'm beginning to think this is the story that will never end... :)_

_Thank you for all of your continued support! I love you all very dearly._

**The Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 50: Surprises**

_Jesus Christ._

It was Sean's first reaction upon seeing the first of the mutant children board the Blackbird.

_Jesus fucking _Christ.

It was _Alex_.

Logically, Sean knew that it wasn't. This boy was a good four or five years younger, with dark brown hair, as opposed to blonde, and bandages wrapped around his eyes.

But still… _Holy shit._

There was a light chuckle coming from the Professor, who clearly had read Sean's thoughts. Not that the redhead minded, but still, was it really _that_ damn complicated for the telepath to give a kid a _little_ warning about things like this?

_Your mouth is hanging open, Sean. I'd advise you close it._

Sean barely comprehended Charles' advice, staring in blank shock at the younger Summers.

Hank let out a soft, surprised growl, having seen what Sean had.

But then, there were about a dozen children all pushing into the Blackbird, obviously thrilled about having been rescued, and Sean was temporarily forced to look away from Alex's fucking _twin_ to help everyone find a place to sit.

He did, however, manage to send a few dirty looks to the Professor, who was smiling oh so innocently back at him.

Sean, in all honesty, hadn't seen the telepath that gleeful since before Cuba, and man, if that wasn't a wake-up call. The redhead felt less inclined to burst the Professor's eardrum over this surprise.

But only slightly less.

With the children settled, Hank hit a few buttons on the navigation panel and launched the Blackbird.

Sean pointedly sat down on the other side of Charles, who was currently sitting next to the mini-Alex.

The Professor had the decency to shoot Sean a slightly apologetic smile.

_I'm sorry, Sean. I thought it would be best if you saw for yourself._

The redhead at least was mature enough not to stick his tongue out at the older man.

_What's wrong with his eyes?_

Charles went very still and his mental voice was guarded.

_I don't know._

While Sean wasn't as adept at reading the telepath as Erik or Raven were, he could still tell with some accuracy when the man was lying.

He sighed.

_If you don't want to tell me, then fine._

Charles shook his head, sounding apologetic.

_It's not my place to tell. I can, however, tell you, that Scott is very happy to be here. Apparently, Alex told him a lot about us._

Pain shook through the mental link before the telepath cut it off, and it was enough to remind Sean that while it had been three years, sometimes, time didn't heal wounds.

He took that as a cue to change the subject by turning to Scott. Though the younger Summers couldn't see, Sean had the feeling the other mutant could sense where people were.

"I'm Sean. I was friends with your brother before…"

Sean immediately stopped talking as his brain caught up with his mouth and he realized, with some faint horror, what he had been about to say.

Scott, however, barely seemed fazed by it.

"Alex wrote me a lot about you. All of you. Beast and the Professor, and…"

The younger mutant trailed off, but Sean didn't need to be a telepath to guess what Scott had been about to say.

Sean sighed.

"Yeah. Cuba sucked. But that's all fixed now. At least, for the most part."

Even three years after the fact, there were still some ghosts of the past that kept haunting them.

Like Scott, for example.

Scott's face changed, into what could only be described as sadness. His voice was soft when he spoke.

"Alex often said he wanted things to go back to the way they were before. He always told me he couldn't remember a time when he was happier than before Cuba."

Three years after the fact, and Sean still couldn't quite get rid of the dull, aching reminder he had of that day on the beach or of the tragedy that happened soon after.

Charles, thankfully, took control of the conversation, his voice remarkably calm.

"Alex was a good man, Scott. He always hoped that we would be able to find you one day and let you join us."

That might have been true, but it didn't fully describe what went on during those long conversations.

In the months before Alex had left before Vietnam, he had actively fought with Charles to bring Scott to them. The Professor had argued that his brother was too young, which was entirely the truth, while Alex had argued that it was too dangerous for him out there with the CIA and the Brotherhood closing in, which was also entirely true.

Before the argument could be resolved, Alex had been shipped out, and then killed. By the time Charles had recovered enough from the blow to look for Scott, the younger Summers had disappeared into the black hole of social services.

And then Erik had happened and the whole world was turned on its head.

Scott smiled slightly.

"He was a good brother. I miss him."

The Professor was quiet for a minute, his sorrow plain.

"So do I."

* * *

><p>A knock at the gym door made Erik pause in the middle of lifting weights. He glanced over to the doorway, surprised to find Charles leaning against the jam.<p>

Since the incident at the CIA a few weeks prior, the telepath had shut himself either in his room or the library, rarely leaving except for meals. Erik honestly wasn't sure if this meant that the other mutant was ripping himself apart over what had happened or if Charles was up to something.

With most of his life spent dodging people who were out to kill him and seeing through people's bullshit, Erik had become fairly adept at reading people. While this skill was mostly useless now with a very powerful telepath on his side, Erik was still fairly good at it, especially when it came to reading Charles.

The younger man seemed content, with a faint smile on his face. He was dressed casually, in a pair of dark jeans and a light blue button up shirt, clearly wanting to go out.

It was highly surprising, to say the least.

Erik raised an eyebrow.

"What do you want, Charles?"

The telepath shrugged, his easy smile still in place.

"Let's go out."

"Why?"

"A celebration of sorts. I'll tell you when we get there."

"Why don't you take Raven? She's more of the celebratory type."

Charles let out a noisy, melodramatic sigh.

"If you don't want to be seen in public with me, just say so, Erik."

The smile on his face showed that he was merely pretending to be offended.

After weeks of silence, Erik really couldn't resist the offer. He wouldn't admit it to anyone, but he _had_ missed Charles over the past few weeks.

"Give me five minutes to change."

Charles' smile turned almost feral, clearly picking up on Erik's reluctant thoughts.

"Don't worry, dear. I won't tell anyone that you missed me."

He disappeared, shutting the door behind him.

Which was a good thing, given that a brief second after the door closed, one of the thousands of weights went flying into it.

The telepath's voice rang through the mansion.

"You're going to fix that!"

Erik gave the closed door the finger, before shaking his head. He was entirely unsuccessful at keeping the stupid grin off his face.


	51. A Fire Rises

_Well... it looks like it's going to be another one of those weeks where you get slammed with updates. Hope you don't mind. :) (Though, to be honest, I'll probably stop updating on Wednesday and won't go back to updating until next week. I'm getting ready to go on a massive road trip and move... But I'll update when I can)_

_This chapter is basically just an excuse for some evil-guy monologue and a bar scene between Charles and Erik. Please indulge my cliches and don't kill me for the cliffhanger. _

_And by the way, this is perhaps one of my favorite chapters. :) _

**The Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 51: A Fire Rises**

Erik groaned as he fought his way back to consciousness. It felt as though someone had beaten him upside the head with a lead brick.

A slow, cold chuckle reached his ears, followed immediately by the acrid scent of gasoline.

The metal bender slowly opened his eyes, hating how his vision blurred dramatically. He blinked, feeling slightly better when everything came into a fuzzy focus.

He was on the floor of what looked like an abandoned warehouse or construction site, given the amount of lumber and chains that were in the immediate vicinity. The smell of gasoline came from a cherry red can sitting about a yard away, on top of a large pile of scrap wood. The wood, Erik noted, was darkened, as though it had been soaked in the flammable liquid.

The laughter had come from Cain, who stood about ten feet away, with his thick arms crossed over his massive chest. His dark eyes were staring at Erik with smug satisfaction.

Erik rolled over onto his side, unable to keep himself from coughing as the movement caused him to inhale dust into his inflamed lungs.

Cain's smile grew.

"Well, well, well, looks like I didn't manage to kill you after all."

Erik coughed again, before replying.

"I don't know what you're planning, but it's not going to work."

Cain shrugged and cocked his head inquisitively.

"If you don't know what I'm planning, then how do you know it's not going to work?"

Erik smiled slightly.

"Because I know your stepbrother. And I know he's not going to let you get away with… whatever this is."

The kidnapper looked positively delighted.

"So Charlie _did_ tell you who I am! I'm so _proud_ that I rank so highly in his life. And here I had gotten to thinking he had forgotten about little old me."

_Charlie_.

The nickname struck a horrific chord in Erik's mind, reminding him all to forcefully of Onslaught. It was clear now where Charles' alter ego had gotten the moniker.

The metal bender forced himself into a sitting position.

"Yes, _Charles_ did tell me all about you. About how your father tortured him, and you for good measure, and about all of the horrible things you did to him. Funny, I do distinctly remember Charles telling me he killed you…"

Rage flitted across Cain's face, so quickly that Erik almost missed it. It was replaced by another smile, though this one was far less pleasant as the synthetic mutant continued.

"Charlie never had the balls to do such a thing."

Erik snorted.

"Clearly, you don't remember Emma Frost."

Cain scowled and stalked over.

Stars exploded across Erik's vision as Cain's meaty fist collided with the metal bender's jaw.

"That diamond bitch practically committed suicide."

Erik spat blood out on the floor and winced. He was going to have one _hell_ of a bruise.

Provided he got out of here alive.

_Charles… if you're listening, please get here _now.

"But it was Charles who pulled the trigger."

Cain growled, a low warning deep in his throat. Erik couldn't resist the smirk that crossed his face—clearly, Charles' random fits of murdering people was a touchy subject for the synthetic mutant.

The other mutant let out a weary sigh and shook his head.

"Charles won't be able to stop me. That, I guarantee you."

There was something about the cold edge to Cain's voice that gave Erik pause.

"And why do you think that?"

"Because he'll be too busy fighting that _bitch_ of a sister."

Erik's heart skipped a beat as horrendous images of a bleeding Raven, screaming in pain, shot through his mind.

"You bastard."

The harsh whisper tore its way out of Erik's mouth before he could stop it.

Cain grinned, a rather sinister expression.

"That's not all I did."

Horror gripped Erik's chest, freezing him in place more effectively than any telepath.

Cain continued.

"I erased every single memory she had of everyone and everything she ever loved. She now thinks she's Mystique, a tough survivor of the streets. She's been tortured for years by humans, and has developed a healthy hatred for them. She also believes Charles is a weak, pathetic _human_ who she has made it her life's mission to kill."

Erik could hardly breathe.

Cain's grin widened even more.

"And once dear Charlie realizes what's happened to his sister and has put her out of her misery, he's going to come here, looking for you."

Erik found his voice, rough and violent as it was.

"And you're going to kill him."

The other mutant laughed, a deep throated, chilling noise.

"No, _Magneto_. I'm not going to kill him."

There was a moment of silence, before Cain continued.

"You are."

A hysterical chuckle ripped itself free from Erik's throat.

"No, I won't."

If there was one thing he could never do, it would be to kill Charles.

Cain smiled again, feigned sympathy in his eyes as he calmly pulled out a match and struck it against one of the logs.

"I'm afraid, you won't have a choice."

He dropped the match on to the gasoline-soaked wood.

* * *

><p>Given that both Charles and Erik were practically functional alcoholics, it made sense for them to wind up at a bar.<p>

Erik cast a glance behind him at the very nice sports car they had arrived in.

"I do hope you don't plan on getting wasted, Charles. It would be a shame if you wrecked that car."

Charles merely shrugged, tossing his keys to Erik.

"Then you drive. Besides, you're much more likely to keep us from wrecking anyway, given your mutation."

He was still smiling that faint, slightly devious smile that made Erik simultaneously want to strangle him and grin. The metal bender settled for scowling, which only made Charles' smile widen.

They walked into the bar. As far as bars went, this one was pretty average, complete with dim lighting, the pungent smell of alcohol permeating the air, and the constant drunk in the far corner, nursing a bottle of beer. That's why it took Erik a minute to realize that he had been here before, what felt like decades ago.

He looked questioningly at Charles, who either didn't catch the look or chose to ignore it as they settled onto barstools.

It was the bar where they had repaired their friendship, close to a year ago.

Erik waited until Charles had ordered both of them beers before demanding to know what was going on.

"Why are we here?"

Charles cast him a sideways glance.

"I told you, we're celebrating."

"Not to be rude, but what do we have to celebrate?"

The telepath's smile widened even more as he reached into his jeans' pocket and produced a piece of folded white paper. He looked at it fondly for a moment, before pushing it over to Erik.

"My friend, we have everything in the world to celebrate."

Confused, Erik took the piece of paper and unfolded it gently. He skimmed its contents, his eyes widening as he realized what it meant.

He looked back to Charles.

"Is this for real?"

Charles nodded, taking a swig of his beer.

"I got the letter this afternoon."

"So…"

"In a few short weeks, we'll legally be able to house and train young mutants. Under the guise of a private academy, of sorts."

Erik looked back at the paper and then back at Charles, trying to figure out what had brought this on. Sure, there had been plenty of talk of starting something similar to this over the past year—and the metal bender knew Charles had had plans directly after Cuba—but he had assumed with the CIA constantly on them and their not so legal activities, the idea for a school had fallen through.

Clearly, it hadn't, which led Erik to his next question.

"Why now?"

Charles was quiet for a moment, toying with his bottle cap. His shoulders had slumped slightly, alerting Erik to his friend's change in mood. The metal bender felt immediately guilty, but didn't take his question back.

The telepath swallowed hard before replying. His voice was soft, barely carrying above the ambient noise of the bar patrons.

"I never thought we'd be able to save everyone. We practically declared war on the humans; I wasn't naïve enough to expect there wouldn't be casualties."

His words hit Erik hard, for the telepath had inadvertently threw the metal bender's harsh words from well over two years ago back in his face.

Erik looked away, drank some more of his beer, and waited for Charles to continue.

He did.

"In the midst of all of this thinking, I never once considered the possibility that Stryker would stoop so low as to experiment on _children._ Innocents, who had barely even realized they _had_ a mutation, much less what it meant.

"After having to basically murder those in that base, I knew this couldn't go on. There has to be a line somewhere, and I draw it at mutilating _children_."

Charles' voice broke, and he paused only long enough to take a long pull of his beer before continuing.

"However, I knew Stryker wouldn't just stop because I wanted him to. So, after we got back to the mansion, I started working on a plan to keep that _bastard_ from ever getting his hands on the children in the first place. This was the only idea I could come up with that didn't involve murder."

Erik's eyebrows shot to the top of his head as he looked back at Charles. He didn't doubt the cold, blunt honesty in the telepath's voice, but it was still a jarring surprise to hear the pacifist speak in such a way.

Charles grimaced at Erik.

"Don't look at me like that. You know as well as I do that I'm no saint."

Emma leapt to the forefront of both of their minds.

Erik sighed.

"I like it."

Charles raised an eyebrow.

"What? The part where I'm not a saint, or the school?"

A faint smile tugged at Erik's lips and he longed to say _both_, just to watch Charles' reactions, but instead, decided against it.

"The school. It's a perfect solution."

Blush crept up Charles' cheeks and he looked away, clearly embarrassed by the praise. This amused Erik to no end, but he said nothing of it.

Silence reigned for a few minutes as they finished off their beers.

Erik decided a subject change was in order. And since they were moving on to their second beer, he decided they were both probably buzzed enough for him to ask without Charles shutting down.

"I've been meaning to ask you… how did you make that shot in Texas?"

Charles frowned into his freshly opened beer.

"What do you mean?"

Erik growled, having never had any tolerance for Charles' evasions.

"You know what I mean."

The telepath shrugged and looked side long at Erik. There was something _dangerous_ floating in his eyes.

"I may not be able to justify to myself shooting anyone point blank, but don't think for a second that doesn't mean I don't know how to use a gun."

This information honestly shouldn't have been surprising, given just how many secrets the professor had. But it made Erik curious.

"Where did you learn to shoot?"

The barest hint of a smile made its way to Charles' face. He was clearly grateful for the subject change.

"I was on the rifle squad at Oxford. I was too short for crew and had too many bad memories associated with track. Shooting a gun was something that, at the time, seemed practical."

After that, the conversation moved back to the school Charles wanted to start. The telepath was eager to talk about it, filling Erik in on the countless plans he had been working on for the past few weeks.

Erik listened half-heartedly, with an amused smile on his face. It wasn't that he didn't _care_ what Charles was going on about, it was just that Erik was overwhelmed with the overpowering sense of _relief_ that his friend might actually make it through this ordeal without too much emotional scarring.

The metal bender was emotionally scarred enough for the both of them.

Charles trailed off, looking guiltily at Erik.

"I'm boring you, aren't I?"

Erik was quick to shake his head.

"No."

The telepath looked suspicious and then sighed heavily.

"I'm not going to break, you know."

"I never said you were."

"But you thought it."

"If you don't like what you see, then stay out of my head."

Where that turn of phrase would have once put Charles on the defensive about his ethical standards of using his powers, now, it only made him smile. Erik smiled as well, remembering the long conversations they had had about the _ethics_ of their mutations.

Charles glanced at the rather expensive watch on his wrist and grimaced.

"We should be heading home."

_Home_.

A simple word, but one that neither Charles nor Erik had ever really used. Erik, because he hadn't had one since he was nine and his world was ripped away from him. Charles, because as much as the mansion was his, it just _wasn't_.

Or, at least, it hadn't been, until he filled it with their small, but steadily growing _family_.

Erik smiled softly.

"Yes. We should."


	52. Frightening Occurrences

_I apologize for the length in updates. I've been having a lot of real life crisises lately and haven't had a whole lot of time to sleep, let alone write anything intelligible. _

_So, I give you lots of injured Erik and some sibling love between Charles and Raven. Hope you all like it._

**The Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 52: Frightening Occurrences**

The rest of the half an hour flight back to Westchester was relatively uneventful. Sean kept sending rather dark glares toward Charles, who proceeded to ignore them, and Hank kept having to be reminded to look at his navigation panels and to _quit_ looking at Scott.

Scott, for the most part, enjoyed all of the attention, though he wished he were able to see them.

When Charles very carefully asked what had happened to him, the younger Summers merely shrugged and muttered something incoherent.

Years of dealing with Erik had taught Charles not to pry. If there was something important that he should know, then he would know it. For now, he had to live and let live.

The other mutant children were frightened, and a bit leery of their rescuers. Sure, they had Scott's reassurances that Charles and the others were safe, but what was the word of a child after all of the torture they had been put through?

Charles was quick to use his powers to soothe the worst of the fears, though there were some concerns that he would have to address, sooner rather than later.

Questions like, where were they and would they be allowed to go back to their families? Were their families even alive? Would they ever be safe?

He should have been used to this part of the job by now, but it never failed to shock Charles just how much Stryker had destroyed these innocents' lives.

Hank interrupted much of Charles' inner monologue to announce they were going to be landing shortly.

Barely a heartbeat later, _pain_ and _fear_ and _please god not her_ slammed into Charles' mind, fast enough to give him whiplash and leave him gasping for breath.

"Professor?"

Sean's anxious voice barely registered in the telepath's ears as he immediately recognized who that mental voice belonged to.

_Erik!_

The strength of his mental shout made those around him wince and look at him with wide-eyed fear. Sean visibly froze as he realized what it meant.

Hank growled from the cockpit.

"What's going on?"

Charles clenched his eyes shut and shook his head.

"I don't know."

He cast out his powers, searching for _anything_, that would give him a hint as to what was going on. When he had left—and the last time he had checked in—everything had been _fine_. Raven and Erik had been in Erik's room eating supper. There had been nothing suspicious going on.

Either fortunately or unfortunately for Charles, he didn't have to look very far before his mind slammed into a wall of pure hatred.

There had only been three minds Charles had ever encountered that had felt like that. Two were dead, one by a coin through the skull, the other by an out of control telepath.

That left only the third.

_Cain_.

_Miss me, dear Charlie?_

Charles' hands clenched into fists, his physical surroundings melting away as he delved into Cain's mind.

_What have you done?_

He couldn't get a location. Cain was purposefully blocking that out.

Cain mentally smiled.

_Come and find me and I'll tell you._

The connection between their minds was severed painfully, practically drop kicking Charles back into his own mind. The force of it left him breathless.

Hank was the first one to notice.

"Are you all right?"

Charles shook his head and clenched his teeth.

"We need to land. Immediately."

* * *

><p>Raven felt like she should be more alarmed over the fact that her brother and Erik were missing. She really did.<p>

But the sad fact of the matter was that this was starting to become all too common of an occurrence, ever since Charles decided to get his school up and running.

It would start with an all day session in the newly designed Cerebro, which would inevitably be followed by an argument between Charles and Erik whether Charles was pushing his powers too much. Then, there would be a lot of shouting, followed by dramatic door slamming, and then, bam. Charles and Erik would disappear. When they returned, sometimes a few hours later, others, a few weeks, they always had a new mutant with them.

It should have been a little more annoying that they didn't tell her—or anyone else, for that matter—where they were going.

But truth be told, Raven was just glad that her brother was all right and that Erik wasn't itching to leave.

She was perched on a kitchen counter now, sipping absently at a cup of tea. Hank and Sean were seated at the table, with a few dirty dishes between them. Hank had a very complicated looking schematic in front of him, and Sean was reading the newspaper.

This was another common occurrence. Hank was constantly upgrading Cerebro and Sean liked to keep an eye on the world at large to make sure they weren't being discovered.

Things were quiet, almost peaceful, which was rare now at the mansion, with over a dozen mutants under the age of ten running around the place. Luckily, it was well past nine o'clock at night, which was their bedtime, and they were all asleep.

It was Hank who noticed first. He was sitting quietly one moment, and then the next, he looked up with a sharp growl.

Raven heard the front door open, followed by a strained curse.

Her heart skipped a beat as she recognized the voice as Charles'.

She was leaping off the counter and heading for the front entrance before she was ever fully conscious of her decision to move. Hank and Sean were right behind her.

Raven skidded to a stop as soon as her eyes rested on the scene in front of her.

Erik was leaning heavily against Charles, his left side drenched in blood. His eyes were at half-mast, and his face was twisted with pain.

Charles looked little better, with his usually immaculate hair in a tangled mess, and dark bruises beginning to form on his face. He was obviously favoring his left shoulder, while using the other one as a crutch for Erik.

Hank let out a startled growl.

"What happened?"

Charles shook his head and gestured to Erik.

"Help me get him to his room."

Hank and Sean both immediately moved to assist, easily taking Charles' place at Erik's side. It was a testament to how injured Erik was that he didn't even protest.

Raven fixed Charles with a concerned look.

"Are you all right?"

The last mission went wrong was still too fresh in her mind.

Charles closed his eyes and let out a long sigh.

"Not particularly."

Raven filed away that response for later.

"What happened?"

Charles shook his head again.

"I should—."

"Don't even start, Charles. Tell me what happened, _now_."

Her brother gave her a surprised look, clearly not expecting her to be stubborn about it.

Raven folded her arms and waited.

He let out another sigh.

"We were going after a fire mutant. He held such _potential_. But Angel and Azazel were there and it wasn't long before it turned into a fight."

Raven's mouth fell open.

"Angel and _Azazel_ did this to you?"

Charles gave her a long suffering glance, one that spoke to just how much he had been keeping from her. Clearly, there was something else going on here, because this hadn't been entirely unexpected.

The telepath closed his eyes.

"I need to go check on Erik. Azazel almost gutted him and I should have taken the stubborn idiot to the hospital."

There was a large amount of guilt in Charles' tone, which made Raven guess that Erik had done something stupid in her brother's defense.

It was her turn to sigh.

"I'll go call the doctor. But Charles?"

He was already halfway to the stairs when he paused and turned.

"Yes?"

Raven glared at him again.

"When we know that Erik's all right, you are going to tell me everything."

Genuine sadness showed in Charles' eyes.

"Yes. I'm afraid I'm going to have to."

With that, he turned and climbed carefully up the stairs, leaving Raven to wonder what exactly was going on.


	53. Realizations

_So. I have a bit of a confession to make. And I feel terrible for telling you all of this, because it makes you think that I don't love you. But. The truth is, I have had this chapter written for the better part of ten months now and just have been completely forgetting to post it. I believe my logic was that at the time, I wanted to make it longer, or work on the first half of this... but whatever that logic may have been, it's over now. So. I apologize, so very much, for taking so long to update. I'm going to cite my first year away from home at college with some highly overdramatic friends (all of whom I love dearly, but are still really fucking crazy) as my excuse. _

_I'm in the process of writing the next chapter. And as I'm home for the summer and currently don't have a whole lot to do, expect a lot of updates. Because I do want to finish this story, and that shouldn't take too much longer. Though, I've been telling you all that forever now, so feel free not to believe me._

_Anyway. I'm not sure where I left off on responding to everyone's reviews, so here goes: To everyone, and I mean everyone, who has ever read this story, reviewed this story, thought about leaving a review for this story but got distracted at the last minute, who has ever thought about reading this story but hasn't decided to until now, or anyone who has been remotely involved with this story: Thank you. You mean more to me than I can properly say, and I apologize deeply for leaving you all hanging so long. Hopefully you haven't all given up on me yet. But if you have, I understand._

_Anyway. I LOVE YOU ALL. THANK YOU FOR BEING THERE FOR ME._

_On with the story!_

**The Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 53: Realizations**

This wasn't exactly the first time Erik had been on the wrong side of a dangerous man. It wasn't even the first time time he had been on the wrong side of a dangerous mutant or a dangerous telepath. Given that his past consisted of hunting down Nazis and Shaw, it really wasn't all that surprising.

This was, however, the first time Erik had ever truly believed he might have a chance of coming out the other side alive.

It had nothing to do with him. Truth be told, he had never felt more unable to do anything as simple as _breathing_, with all of the smoke curling around him.

It had everything to do with the fact that he was no longer alone.

True, he was alone at the moment, but he knew without a doubt that Charles was coming.

Such faith in one person used to be beyond Erik. He had never trusted anyone—a trait which he had always had, but was cultivated in the camps—and had never been willing to take a chance on anyone. In his opinion, people would betray you the moment they found out your weakness.

Then Charles came along and turned everything on its head and suddenly, Erik had someone who would be there for him no matter what.

It was a little bit disconcerting, to say the least, to the man who had no one to rely on but himself for the past thirty years, but now, as he found himself surrounded by fire and a dangerous synthetic mutant, Erik realized that he could get used to the idea.

* * *

><p>A few hours later found Charles sitting a silent vigil beside Erik's bed.<p>

The doctor had left about half an hour ago, declaring Erik would be just fine with plenty of bed rest and not a whole lot of activity for the next few weeks.

Charles buried his face in his hands, wincing as his shoulder throbbed dully. He had managed to dislocate it when he was trying to pull Erik out from Azazel's line of fire.

This had been a disaster, right from the beginning. What he had told Raven wasn't true, or at least, not entirely. They _had_ been going after a fire mutant, but he hadn't exactly been free to take, so to speak. He was being kept prisoner at the CIA, and experimented on.

Angel and Azazel, for whatever reason, had decided that the CIA was their best bet for protection—and for revenge against Charles, though Charles had neglected to tell anyone of that particular fact—and had been guarding the fire mutant.

Needless to say, once they caught sight of Charles, things went to hell in a hand basket.

Charles let out a weary sigh, which he ended abruptly, when there was a soft chuckle from Erik's bed.

The telepath raised an eyebrow.

"What's so funny?"

Though it was completely dark, Charles could still tell that Erik was smiling.

The metal bender's voice was soft and hoarse as he replied.

"You."

Charles found that mildly offensive, seeing as he was on the verge of a complete mental breakdown.

He glared, knowing that its effect would be lost on Erik.

"How is that, exactly?"

There was a faint rustling on the bed, followed by a soft groan. Charles had half a mind to tell Erik not to move, but before had the chance, the lamp on the bedside table clicked on, bathing the room in a soft, warm light.

Erik looked considerably better than he had upon their arrival at the Westchester mansion. For one thing, he was no longer the color of paper, and for another, he was _smiling_.

Which, given everything that happened, was probably not an appropriate facial expression.

The metal bender let out a weary sigh.

"It's not your fault, you know."

It was. Had Charles not been daft enough to sit there, doing absolutely nothing, Erik wouldn't have felt the need to protect him.

Erik narrowed his eyes, clearly reading Charles' expression.

"Charles."

The telepath rolled his eyes.

"We both know perfectly well that it is."

"Right. So you grew a pointed tail and stabbed me with it, all without my knowing."

Charles really hated it when Erik was sarcastic, especially involving things like this.

"If I hadn't just been standing around uselessly, you wouldn't have gotten stabbed in the first place."

Erik snorted.

"Right. Because Azazel was only out to kill you, and not me."

Charles fell silent and looked away. He could feel Erik's shock, palpable as it was, without having to read his mind.

Before the metal bender had the chance to question him on it, there was a soft knock at the door. Charles knew, without bothering to cast his powers out, that it was Raven.

"Come in."

Erik shot him a dirty look, one that probably meant that he was planning all sorts of terrible revenge for this interruption, but Charles merely shrugged. He had promised Raven that he would tell her everything as well, and it seemed less painful to do it all at once than to do it separately.

Raven came in, and God bless her, she was carrying a tray of coffee, tea, and what resembled chocolate chip cookies. Charles wasn't entirely sure—they looked a little on the burnt side.

She smiled slightly at Erik.

"I'm glad you're awake."

Erik shifted uncomfortably, hissing slightly. Charles sent him an admonishing look, which the older man proceeded to ignore.

Raven sighed, setting down the tray on Erik's bed and curling up at the foot of it.

"What happened?"

Well, that was rather blunt, but then again, Charles' sister had never been anything but.

Charles let out another weary sigh.

"Angel and Azazel are working for the CIA."

Raven's eyes widened almost comically and her mouth fell open.

Erik let out a soft growl.

"I thought they were supposed to be on our side. They did ask us for protection awhile back."

Charles closed his eyes and shook his head.

"I can't say for sure if their intentions were honorable then or not. If you'll remember, I wasn't exactly in control of my telepathy then."

Erik flinched and looked away, while Raven shifted uncomfortably. Neither one of them had gotten over what had happened in Texas.

_That makes three of us,_ Charles thought darkly.

Raven motioned for Charles to continue.

He did so, albeit reluctantly.

"I do know, however, that they aren't happy with me. Texas was supposed to have resulted in my death."

The words felt hollow as they left Charles' mouth, and he became very interested in a loose thread on Erik's blanket as his two closest friends stared at him, shocked.

Raven managed to form a slightly coherent sentence first.

"What the—I—_what?_"

Charles shook his head and spoke to the blanket.

"They blamed me for Erik's disbanding of the Brotherhood and their landing in prison. Since then, everything that's gone wrong, they've blamed me for."

Erik snorted.

"That's ridiculous."

"And true."

Erik set his jaw and glared, clearly ready to give one of his slightly flattering, overly offensive speeches about how moot Charles was in the grand scheme of things.

Charles mentally sighed.

It was great to have friends.

Raven, however, spoke before Erik had the chance.

"But how would killing you make any difference to what's happening to them now? And why ask us for protection in the first place?"

Charles fiddled with the loose thread and took his time answering.

"Cain's mutation, from what I gleaned from Azazel's mind, is a very limited form of telepathy. He can't exactly read minds, but he can control them. But –and this is purely guess work—I think that the amount of control he has leads to some sort of emotional backlash."

Erik stared.

Raven looked confused.

"Meaning?"

Charles lifted his good shoulder in a half-hearted shrug.

"Meaning that whatever hatred he held for me—and I imagine it was quite a lot—transferred through the link he created between the mind he was controlling."

Erik made the connection seconds after Charles did.

"And you think he was only controlling Azazel's mind."

Charles shrugged again.

"Angel has shown in the past that she's been perfectly amenable to follow whoever she thought was the strongest power. Clearly, she thinks Azazel is, so she wouldn't require nearly the amount of mind control. Hence the reason why it was her idea to come to us for protection and not Azazel's."

Raven frowned.

"But that doesn't explain why they think _everything_ that's happened is your fault."

Surprisingly enough, it was Erik who answered.

"It does if they think Charles is using his powers to control me as well. They think he forced me to end the Brotherhood, thus forcing them to go to the CIA. They also think I was the one who killed Emma."

He glanced at Charles, who nodded briefly.

Raven stared, dumbfounded. She looked at Charles.

"But you aren't! That's absolutely ridiculous."

Charles shook his head.

"To you, it's ridiculous, because you know me and trust me. Azazel doesn't. All he knows is that Erik left me behind in Cuba, and then a year later, came back. For all he knows, I forced him to come back as some sort of revenge."

"That's nuts!"

"That's the way it is, Raven."

She shook her head in frustration.

"So what? They're going to keep trying to kill you because they think that if they do, Erik will come back and save them?"

Silence met her question. Erik had already worked that much out on his own and Charles hadn't wanted to tell her. Or Erik, for that matter, but the metal bender was too intuitive for his own good.

Raven clenched her hands into fists, fury coming off her in waves.

"When were you going to tell me about this, Charles?"

The telepath ducked his head and looked away. The honest answer to her question was never. He hadn't planned on telling any of them anything about this, because they would wind up blaming themselves. He could already feel the first seeds of self blame growing in Erik's mind, as much as Charles had tried to quell them.

Erik let out a weary sigh.

"If it's going to endanger the rest of us, we have a right to know."

Charles looked up and glared.

"If you hadn't been so hell bent on jumping in front of me, you wouldn't have gotten stabbed at all!"

The metal bender blinked slowly and gave Charles a pointed stare.

"That wasn't what I was talking about."

Raven seemed to be in on whatever Erik was going on about, for she, too, was glaring rather pointedly at Charles.

The telepath sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"Well, if that's all for cryptic statements, then I'm going to check on the others. I think Hank is—."

Raven rolled her eyes and interrupted him.

"You are so _dense _sometimes, Charles."

Charles raised an eyebrow.

"That's highly insulting, Raven."

Erik snorted.

"And true."

The telepath pointed a finger at his friend.

"You stay out of this."

Raven shook her head again.

"You really don't get it, do you?"

"Get _what_?"

She smiled slightly, though it was a cheerless smile, one that Charles recognized so immediately because it was an expression he had perfected himself. It conveyed fondness, and a deep sadness for whoever he was smiling at, for they didn't realize just how important they were.

Erik let out a sigh.

"If we have to explain it to you, then the point is lost entirely."


	54. A Sense of Wrongness

_*ducks head anxiously* Uh. Hi. It's been... fuck. It's been seven months and three weeks since I last updated and I can't even begin to tell you how very sorry I am for that. I really don't have any excuse whatsoever. Except that this chapter was a bitch and really didn't want to be written, but that's fairly stupid. So. My deepest apologies for making you guys wait so long, especially given the fact that there are only about ten more chapters in this story to go._

_Thank you so much to everyone who has stood by the story and has reviewed and asked me for updates recently. I know it's rough when your author doesn't update for months on end, and I hate to be that person. And I really wish I hadn't been, because you are the most fantastic fanbase I have ever had and I don't think I could ever thank you enough for sticking with me for so long. I hope you all enjoy this chapter. While I didn't exactly enjoy writing it, it is still in my opinion, one of my favorites._

_Here's to having another update fairly soon! (Actually, it could very well be tomorrow, because I have a snow day tomorrow and most of the next part is already written. So. Maybe!) _

_I love you all and I hope you haven't given up on me completely._

**The Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 54: A Sense of Wrongness**

Charles couldn't even begin to describe the way he felt about the Xavier family mansion. On one hand, it was a testament to the shitty childhood he had undergone, all of the hell with Kurt and Cain, all of the pain and suffering, all of the heartbreak he and Raven had endured as children. He had been all too willing to run away to England with Raven in tow the second he had had the chance. But on the other hand, there was the past three years of Charles' life, which were in equal parts the best and worst, all involving the ragtag bunch of misfits that had come together to become a family, all calling the Xavier mansion home. While physically, it was still the same place, the very feel of the large house had changed, going from a stale, frigid building devoid of life, to a warm, bright place, pulsing with vitality. It had become _home_, something Charles had been searching for nearly his entire life.

Neither one of those things, however, covered what Charles felt now. There was an emptying sense of _wrongness_, as though something was missing.

The mansion was silent and dark, two things that it almost never was nowadays. Charles could feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing up as his heart beat faster and his blood started to race.

Behind him, Hank let out a soft, frustrated growl.

"Something's not right."

Charles could clearly see that, and only barely managed to curb his sarcastic insult that was on the tip of his tongue. He had evidently been spending far too much time with Erik.

"Can you smell anything, Hank?"

The telepath couldn't sense anything at all. It was almost as though there were no minds in the mansion at all, which was haunting, given the last thought Charles had been able to hear had been Erik's cry of distress almost an hour before hand.

Hank shook his head. He opened his mouth to say something, and then froze.

"Wait... There's something around back. I'm not sure what it is."

They shared a brief silence, during which Charles debated the logic of their splitting up. Something about this entire situation just seemed to scream trap to him, but he could not figure out what. Nor could he explain the lack of minds coming from inside the mansion, when in reality there should have been at least six, all full of dreams and nightmares at this time of night. He knew he needed to go into the mansion and figure out what was going on, but at the same time, he could not willingly send Hank into what could very well be a highly dangerous situation. But they still needed to know what was on the other side of the mansion, and if Erik was truly in danger, time was of the essence and they could not afford the extra time spent if both of them went to the back of the house.

_They're no longer children._

Erik's words, spoken many times throughout the past three years, floated through Charles' mind.

He growled internally, knowing that this would be a very bad idea, before nodding at Hank.

"Go check it out. But please, be careful."

Hank nodded once and slipped off into the night.

Charles waited a moment, feeling slightly comforted by the fact that despite there were still no signs of activity coming from the mansion, he could still hear Hank's thoughts.

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, counting down from ten in his thoughts, before pushing open the front door. He hadn't used this amount of caution to enter the mansion since he was sixteen and hiding from Kurt.

The wood creaked abnormally loud underneath his weight as he stepped into the house. All of the lights in the foyer were out, a situation practically unheard of in the Xavier mansion.

Charles was still completely unable to hear any psychic activity whatsoever. It made the hair on the back of his neck prickle uncomfortably.

He had been in similar situations, all of which had ended badly. The two which he remembered most acutely were Cuba and Texas, both of which had ended with severe pain and lots of heartache.

A large, solid object slammed into his side, breaking Charles' thoughts and forcing him back to the present.

As he crashed to the floor, instinct and years' worth of training with Erik and the others kicked in. Charles tucked his body and rolled away from his attacker, throwing out a mental pulse to see if he could get a read on the other person.

There was still nothing definable-no hints as to who the mind belonged to or what their intentions were-and Charles' attacker was moving too quickly for him to be able to figure out who it was. But there was something familiar about the way the mind was hidden, something he couldn't quite put his finger on and didn't have time to figure out.

His attacker lunged. Having anticipated the movement, Charles ducked right, but he was too slow. The assailant got in a few good kicks, knocking the air out of the telepath's lungs, and tackled him. A strong arm wrapped around his throat, drawing him upward.

The lights suddenly flickered on.

Charles blinked, gasping for air as the pressure on his throat increased significantly.

Hank stood in the doorway to the foyer, his blue eyes wide with horror.

"H-Hank, don't just stand there. D-do something!"

The telepath's voice was barely audible, a faint wheeze as the arm continuously applied pressure to his throat.

Charles would never find out for certain one way or another if surprise or genuine fear was what stopped Hank from moving that night. The telepath did know, however, that when his attacker did speak, it froze his heart.

"Take one step closer, Beast, and I will break his neck."

It was Raven.

* * *

><p>A few weeks later found Erik in the middle of one of the almost empty hallways of the Xavier mansion, looking for Charles. Surprisingly, the telepath was not in the library, like he usually was this time of day, nor was he on the lawn helping Sean with his sonar abilities, or in the usual six thousand places that Erik could dependably find him on a regular basis.<p>

No, instead, Charles had decided that today, of all days, would be a great day to go find a new place and not be the typical, dependable professor he usually was.

If the thought had actually truly surprised Erik, he might have been a little more panicked. But the fact of the matter was, no matter how saintly Charles was, the man still needed the opportunity to get away from everyone on occasion.

Though, Erik wished the idiot wouldn't choose _today_ to do it.

In truth, today really wasn't all that important. It was just another typical, rainy afternoon at the Westchester mansion. For the most part, the mansion was empty. It being a Saturday meant that the mutants had free time to do what they wanted, so long as they didn't reveal themselves. It wasn't exactly something Erik approved of, but since the majority of the mutants _were_ children, and since Charles was a big believer in good morale, the children got their Saturdays.

Sean had taken a lot of them into the city for shopping. Surprisingly enough, Raven had elected to stay behind and had then locked herself in her room. That was why Erik was now looking for Charles-someone had to be able to explain the shapeshifter's bizarre behavior.

Erik let out a frustrated sigh, and decided that Charles would show up eventually. He headed to the weight room-not to physically lift weights, for that was still out of the question while his injuries, but at least he could work out some of his inner frustrations on the metal weights.

Surprisingly enough, he found Charles there, sitting in the middle of the room with a small weight in one hand. Further observation revealed that it was indeed the hand which belonged to the dislocated shoulder Charles was sporting, the one the doctor said not to stress for at least a month.

Erik frowned.

"Should you really be doing that?"

Charles, who had been staring at the floor, looked up in surprise.

That in itself was interesting-Charles was never surprised by anyone's entrance.

The surprise melted into a guilty smile as he looked down at the weight in his hand.

"Once or twice won't hurt."

Seeing as Erik had been searching for the telepath for close to an hour, he highly doubted Charles had only lifted that weight once or twice.

He sighed and mentally shook his head. Charles was going to be stubborn and ignore Erik, even if the metal wielder told him he was being an idiot.

Erik solved the problem quite simply by using his powers and gently prying the weight from Charles' hands.

Charles glared.

"That was uncalled for."

Erik shrugged.

"You'll thank me later when your shoulder is better."

Annoyed blue eyes met calm green.

It was Charles' turn to sigh.

"Fine. I'll go to the library and do some reading. It seems to be all I'm good for nowadays anyway."

His light, mocking voice reminded Erik that he was not the only one frustrated by his injuries. While Charles' hadn't been nearly as bad, the telepath still had been sidelined from the mutant recruitment process. The knowledge that the longer they were out, the more mutants they couldn't save weighed heavily on both of their minds.

Erik resisted the urge to growl.

"Charles..."

He trailed off, not knowing quite what to say.

Charles offered a light smile.

"It's not your fault, my friend."

"It's not yours, either."

The telepath shook his head, a small reminder of the conversation they had had weeks earlier. Erik wished that the other man wouldn't be so quick to blame himself for everything that went wrong, but knew it would do no good to argue.

Besides. It was a trait they had in common.

However, the gesture also reminded Erik as to why he was looking for Charles in the first place.

"Your sister is behaving... strangely."

Charles' eyes widened slightly in confusion, which begged to question where exactly Charles had been mentally the past few weeks if he hadn't noticed his own sister's behavior.

The brunette recovered slightly.

"How so?"

Erik frowned.

"She didn't go shopping today."

The words sounded absurd to his own ears, but Charles didn't laugh. Instead, he too frowned, and looked thoughtfully at Erik. Erik knew the telepath well enough to know that Charles' mind was far from the weight room, wandering down the halls to his sister's mind to figure out what was going on.

A moment later, Charles blinked, and came back to himself.

"I'll talk to her."

There was something immediately off about his stance, something that Erik couldn't quite put a finger on. He knew that he should probably say something-that if he didn't, this was probably going to end in disaster-but Erik also got the sense this was something Charles wanted to handle on his own.

Erik nodded once and then hesitated.

Charles sensed his hesitation.

"What is it, Erik?"

The metal bender shook his head.

"Just be careful, okay?"

Charles smiled softly.

"Aren't I always?"

Erik growled.

"No. You're not."


	55. This Was, In A Word, Bad

_So. Uh. Hi. To apologize for my recent lack of updates, I give you a rather lengthy chapter! Whee! And we are finally starting to wrap up this story! (I know, almost sixty chapters just isn't long enough, but, I'm sure you will find some way of surviving.)_

_Anyway. WHO HAS SEEN DAYS OF FUTURE PAST? DID YOU ALL LIKE IT? I for one, thought there needed to be more Charles and Erik interaction, but that's just me. I will undoubtedly write more oneshots about that in the future._

_The next chapter will hopefully be up relatively soon. I'm excited to write it, and I'm on summer break now, so, hopefully, things will work out for the best._

_In the mean time, enjoy this chapter! Fair warning: The first part is a little rough and is the reason why it took me so fricking long to update, but I'm rather fond of the second and third parts of this chapter. _

_Thank you all for reading! And to everyone who is new to the story and has left me countless reviews, I love you all. Thank you. And to everyone who has been here from the beginning: Thank you as well. You are beautiful people and I'm sorry I've been such a shitty updater lately._

**The Perks of Being a Telepath **

**Chapter 55: This Is, In a Word, Bad**

Hank could only stare uncomprehendingly at the sight in front of him. Raven, with her arm wrapped around Charles' throat, and murder in her eyes.

_What the hell had happened?_

"H-Hank, don't just stand there. D-do something!"

Charles' frantic wheeze broke through the scientist's stupor. The fur on the back of his neck began to rise, and he curled his lip into a snarl, preparing to attack. While he was loathe to fight someone he knew and cared for, he refused to let anyone-not even Raven-hurt the professor.

Raven shifted her stance ever so slightly, applying more pressure to the professor's prone neck.

"Take one step closer, Beast, and I will break his neck."

Hank froze, unwilling to take that chance.

Judging by the devastated look on Charles' face, the telepath clearly hadn't known who his attacker had been, which clearly meant telepathic interference. Such things were possible, but very unheard of.

_Shit_.

This was, in a word, bad.

The scientist ran through a multitude of scenarios simultaneously in his head, trying to quickly figure out a way to get out of this without hurting either Raven or Charles. There was nothing he could think of.

Before Hank had the chance to speak his distress, though, Charles _moved_ in a way the scientist didn't think was possible. The telepath caught Raven's stomach with his elbow, and before she had the chance to recover from her initial surprise, he had managed to wriggle out of her grasp and pull away from her. He hesitated for the briefest of moments before sending his elbow into her temple. She collapsed without a sound.

Charles sank to his knees beside her, catching her before she hit the ground. He was breathing heavily, the effort of the fight obviously taking a lot out of him.

Hank stood there dumbly, uncertain of what the hell had just happened. While he had known the professor had been undergoing training, same as the rest of them, he hadn't realized that Charles knew anything in terms of self-defense, nor had he realized the telepath was _that_ good at it.

It made him wonder what exactly Erik and Charles were doing during their 'private training sessions.'

Then Charles looked up at Hank, and the fact that the older man knew how to defend himself was suddenly the least of his worries.

There was only one other time where Hank remembered the telepath looking this completely wrecked, and that was shortly after Alex had died.

The scientist swallowed hard, not wanting to go down that particular road at the moment.

Charles' voice was rough when he spoke.

"Go see if you can find any sign of the others."

It wasn't worth mentioning that Hank had already searched the rest of the house and there was no sign whatsoever of where the others had went. He growled in acquiescence and prowled up the stairs.

When he returned ten minutes later, still having found no sign of the others, Charles was on his feet. Raven was no longer in the entry hall; she had been moved to the couch in the parlor. She looked completely peaceful, despite the bruise now gracing her face.

Hank hated the look on Charles' face. It spoke of defeat and self-hatred. Those two things never boded well for anyone.

"What do we do now, Professor?"

There was a brief moment of silence. Charles' eyes were glued to the unconscious form of his sister.

"Raven is beyond my help. Something—some_one_—has toyed with her mind. Her memory of me has been erased."

Hank struggled to find something to say, but realized that there was nothing that didn't sound completely wooden.

It didn't seem to matter; Charles pressed on.

"She believes she was sent here to kill me, that I am completely human and am working against the mutant cause."

"Can you do anything to fix her?"

Charles' eyes were too wide and sad as he looked sorrowfully at Hank. He shook his head.

"Whatever—_who_ever—erased her memories set the equivalent of mental booby traps. If I try to rectify what was done to her, I could very well trip one of them and erase everything of who she is."

In short, she would become the human equivalent of a vegetable.

Hank growled in frustration.

"There has to be something we can do!"

They couldn't lose Raven. Not now, not when things were finally, _finally_ beginning to work out for the mutants.

Charles let out a shaky breath.

"Cain did this."

Those three words were enough to make Hank's blood freeze.

Although they really didn't know much about the synthetic mutant's powers, but from what they had found in Cain's victims, he was a very powerful, very rare form of telepath. But where Charles used his powers sparingly and probably honestly didn't know the true extent of them, Cain used his to pulverize any mind that came into contact with his own. He created entirely new identities for people, such as he did for Raven, and made it almost impossible to undo them completely.

Charles had tried, several times, but had never had any success. The mental booby traps that Cain set were dangerous, not only to the victim, but to whoever tried to undo them as well. There had been one time where Hank had thought they had lost Charles for good—he had fallen into a coma and almost didn't wake up again.

The telepath's face was white as he continued, his voice shaking violently.

"There's more. Cain has Erik."

Hank felt as though he were in the plane during free fall.

Whatever Cain had done to Raven, if he did even a tenth of that to Erik, it would spell horrible news for everyone. Erik, pushed back into the mentality he had had before Charles, or worse, was impossible to imagine.

The scientist got out one word.

"Where?"

* * *

><p>There was a small room in the attic, more of a cupboard than an actual room. It was barely big enough to seat two young children, hiding from their abusive stepfather and stepbrother, let alone a full grown woman.<p>

Yet it was here, curled up in the small space with her nose stuck in a book and looking frighteningly young in the dim lighting that Charles found Raven.

She was in her natural blue form, which was barely worth mentioning nowadays. The book she held with almost white knuckles was a battered, torn sliver of a novel, barely more than a hundred pages.

She barely glanced up from her reading, even as he sat down beside her. Clearly, whatever the shapeshifter was reading was more entertaining than her older brother.

Charles knew better than to disturb her. She had a stubborn set to her jaw, and even without the almost violent waves of frustration and sheer determination rolling off her, Charles wasn't even going to dare trying to touch her. Regardless of what everyone else seemed to think, he actually did not have a death wish.

So, he sat quietly, with his legs stretched out in front of him, and focused on not listening to her thoughts. Whatever she was thinking about, it was clear that an invasion of her mind was not welcome at the moment. And Charles, for all of his faults, really did try to control his telepathy, especially around Raven.

He wasn't sure how much time passed-to not read Raven's thoughts, he focused on little more than his own breathing and the occasional rustle of turning pages from Raven-and somewhere along the lines, must have dozed off. A small poke in his side woke him from his stupor.

Dark yellow eyes peered out at him, both curious and cautious. Charles blinked hazily as he stretched his now stiff arms.

"What time is it?"

Raven's mouth quirked into half a smile.

"Almost dinner time. You should sleep more, Charles. You look like crap."

The telepath rolled his eyes.

"For god's sake, all I do is sleep."

He didn't mention the fact that when he did, it was plagued with nightmares-both his and others'-and no matter how much he tried, he couldn't drink himself into a dreamless sleep.

Raven gave him a look that showed how entirely unconvinced she was.

Charles decided a subject change was in order.

"Why are you up here?"

They hadn't been up here since Kurt's death and Cain's supposed death. Or at least, Charles hadn't. Then again, Charles made it a point to actively avoid reminders of terrible things in his life as of late.

Raven looked away.

"I just..."

The answer was plain in her mind and Charles couldn't help but see it. She saw this cupboard as a safe place, somewhere she could hide out from the world. Somewhat contradictorily, the attic cupboard was also a constant reminder of what she couldn't control in her life and all of the things that had hurt Charles over the years that she hadn't been able to prevent. The memories were kindling to the fire that was burning inside of her-the passion for revenge against Azazel and Angel for what they had done to Erik and what they were trying to do to Charles.

Charles went very still.

"Raven..."

She was already shaking her head.

"I know what you're going to say, Charles. You're going to tell me that revenge isn't the answer, that I'm only going to get myself killed. Well, I'm not. I have a plan. I am going to stop them."

There was steel in her voice, the very same hardness that led her down the path with Erik after Cuba. It was sharp and painful and worst of all, Charles knew it was going to end badly. It always ended badly.

"Revenge won't bring you peace, Raven. Nor will it fix anything that's happened."

The words were hauntingly familiar to those he spoke to Erik on the eve of the events with Shaw, and it was that pain that made his voice raw and cracked. The mere thought of Raven plunging into that very same darkness that once consumed Erik was horrifying. While Charles knew Raven was no longer the innocent young girl he had brought into his home all those years ago, she was still very much his sister and it was his job to protect her from everything. Including herself.

Raven glared, her yellow eyes almost glowing in the dim attic light.

"I don't want peace, Charles. I want justice."

Charles forcefully pushed away the memories of the ill-fated chess match with Erik and focused on the present.

"This isn't justice! You want to retaliate for what they want to do to me, and that is the very definition of revenge."

"I can't sit by and do nothing while people plot to kill you! I won't!"

He understood where she was coming from. He truly did. And he loved her for wanting to protect him, but she had to understand that what she was planning wasn't going to solve anything.

"Killing Azazel and Angel isn't the answer."

Raven snorted.

"Oh and hiding in the library, drinking scotch until you pass out is?"

He barely registered the insult.

"You are going to get yourself killed, Raven!"

"I'm not a little girl anymore, Charles! I can take care of myself. And I know what I'm doing."

"No, you don't. You have no idea what you're getting yourself into, and you are going to get hurt, or worse, killed!"

"When are you going to realize that I am not a child anymore?"

"When you start acting like an adult!"

The shout surprised them both, and Charles immediately regretted the words.

Raven's jaw snapped shut and she pulled herself out of the cupboard.

"Raven, wait."

She ignored him, stepping over him and moved to leave the attic. Charles-in a last ditch effort to stop her-reached out and caught her hand.

"Please, Raven."

"Let go of me, Charles."

Her voice was cold and emotionless, threatening violence if he didn't remove his hand immediately. Charles knew his sister better than to push it.

He let go of her hand.

_I'm sorry. I didn't mean it._

He projected the words as she stepped away from him, but she didn't stop to acknowledge them. She pushed open the door to the stairs and vanished.

She was going to leave. The plan was plain in her mind-she had had a bag packed for weeks, ever since Charles had told the truth about Azazel and Angel. She had just been waiting for the right time to do it.

Charles pushed himself to his feet, swearing colorfully as his shoulder let out a painful throb. Erik had been right earlier when he had told Charles the telepath was overdoing things.

But that didn't matter now-he needed to get to Raven and apologize and convince her that she needed to stay. He couldn't lose Raven in the same way he had once lost Erik.

Somewhere below him, the front door to the mansion opened, and an influx of excited minds told Charles that the others had returned. He breathed a sigh of relief as he headed down the stairs as fast as he dared. Raven wouldn't risk a huge emotional confrontation in front of everyone. He still had time to convince her to stay.

Erik was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, looking grim.

"Charles."

The telepath looked up, blue eyes meeting saddened green ones, and Charles knew the truth without reading his friend's mind.

Raven was gone.

* * *

><p>Smoke curled lazily from the roof of the abandoned building, a complete juxtaposition from the angry fire that was quickly growing inside.<p>

Charles knew without a doubt that Erik and Cain were inside that building.

"Professor, you can't go in there!"

The telepath was already halfway to the front door of the building before he remembered the others with him.

He turned to Hank, who had spoken.

"I have to, Hank."

The scientist shook his head.

"The smoke alone is going to kill you."

"_Erik_ is in there!"

Hank's face tightened with sadness, betraying how he truly felt. Clearly, he had given up hope on finding Erik after the disaster with Raven.

Charles swallowed heavily.

"I have to do this, Hank."

He was running for the building against before anyone had the chance to stop him.


	56. A Crisis of Conscience

_Y'all thought I forgot about Onslaught, didn't you? Ha._

_Well. This is only one day later than I originally planned it to be, so that's something._

_As I probably told most of you who reviewed, this chapter is a fucking beast. It's twice the word count of the one I posted the other day. So. I hope that sort of counts for something._

_I'm really not too sure of this chapter, because it fought me every single step of the way. So, I hope you guys enjoy it. _

_You all might get super lucky and get another chapter by about middle of next week. I have no life. Hope you don't mind. And it'll probably be long, too._

**Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 56: A Crisis of Conscience **

Two weeks had passed since Raven left. Charles half-heartedly used Cerebro to track her movements, knowing that she was alive and somewhere in the middle of the country, but did nothing about it. She had made her decision and wouldn't listen to him, no matter what the circumstances.

He was sitting by Alex's grave, one of the few places left to him that wasn't crowded by tense or anxious thoughts. Aside from Erik, none of the mutants knew that Raven had left, but they were all supercharged over the most recent bit of government news. A new law had been passed, one that declared mutants little more than animals, and were now tantamount to game as it became hunting season. It was sickening, what the so called "intelligent leaders" of the day believed about the mutant race.

It was times like these that Charles half-wondered if Erik hadn't been right all along in destroying the humans first. After everything they had done to the mutants, when all the mutants wanted was a chance to survive…

The humans were scared they were facing their own extinction. Charles knew that, tried to keep it in mind, even with the new, harsher laws that were being passed every so often. But these laws were cowardly, far below what Charles knew the human race was capable of, and he could no longer just passively sit by and watch his kind be exterminated by blind hatred.

Especially not when his own sister, who was very comfortable in her own obvious mutation, was out there, trying to kill two people who had tried to kill him.

Charles' hands clenched into fists, and he fought very hard against the voice in the back of his mind telling him to just give in to the anger. He had been down that road once before, and it had almost destroyed him. He refused to go down it again.

Behind him, someone coughed. Startled, Charles turned, relaxing ever so slightly when he saw Erik. Erik didn't give a shit one way or the other if Charles had himself under control.

Erik raised an eyebrow.

"Are you hiding?"

Charles shrugged his good shoulder.

"It's quieter out here than it is in there."

"Indeed."

Without further prompting, Erik sat down next to Charles. It was only the second time since the metal bender had returned home that he had been at Alex's grave. His face was unreadable as his green eyes rested on the gravestone.

The lure to read his mind was great, but Charles resisted it. He didn't want to invade his friend's privacy. Not now. Not when it felt as though the government was trying to invade everyone's privacy.

In a surprising show of restraint, Erik had never once told Charles that they could have prevented all of this in Cuba, or many times since had the telepath been inclined to listen to him. It was a sign that things had changed significantly since then.

Normally, Charles would have appreciated the signs of growth, but not today. Today, he needed to argue with someone about how he utterly he had failed the mutant race. How utterly he had failed Raven, to the point where she had gone off on her own to try to protect _him_.

Erik turned his gaze to look at the telepath.

"You're thinking too much, Charles."

Charles sighed. His voice was small when he spoke.

"I failed her, Erik."

"You taught her to be a strong, independent woman. She is just trying to protect the brother that she loves."

"I don't need protecting, Erik. And this… this isn't protection! This is revenge. You, of all people, should know where that leads."

He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth, but Erik didn't look angry. Instead, he merely looked thoughtful.

"I cannot honestly say that I disagree with Raven's actions. It would be hypocritical of me to say otherwise. But, I can say that you are right; this isn't going to lead anywhere good."

Charles opened his mouth and then snapped it shut, feeling like a fish out of water. He had expected Erik to come to Raven's defense, claim that it was the only way to protect Charles. He still wasn't used to Erik's newfound sense of serenity.

Erik continued.

"However, Raven will not listen to you if you go after her. I gather that you've already figured that out, or otherwise you would have left, the fact that you've been injured notwithstanding."

There really wasn't anything Charles could say to that without sounding like a liar.

"What do you think we should do, my friend?"

The metal bender studied Charles, his green eyes serious and intense.

"Let me go after her."

"No."

"Charles…"

"Erik, _no_. You've just admitted that you agree with her actions! How the hell am I supposed to believe that you won't be going just to help her along?"

_Because if I did, you would never let me come back_.

The words weren't spoken, but they were plain in Erik's mind. Flashes of what happened after Cuba flitted around the words, like some sort of grisly short film. There was a soundtrack of sorrow and self-hatred underscoring the entire experience.

It was obvious, then, that Erik would never willingly go down the path that led him to killing Shaw ever again. He had lost far more than his mother or himself; he had thought he had lost the one chance of redemption and humanity he had ever had when the bullet had shattered Charles' spine. When Charles had forgiven him, it was as though Erik had been given another lease on life. And what he was fighting for now—acceptance, mutant rights, and an overall better world—was far more important and far more satisfying to him than seeking revenge ever could be.

Yes, Erik hated Azazel and Angel for what they believed Charles was. Yes, he would not take any extreme measures to save their lives if it came down to it. But nor would he actively seek to kill them, finally understanding what Charles had been trying to tell him for years. There were other ways to defeat the enemy, better ways, ways that defined the line between being the better man and just being a man.

The sentiment was as strong and honest as the memory of Erik's mother once had been. The sheer force of it was enough to take Charles' breath away.

_This_. This impossible change in character was what made all of the madness worth it. If a man as stuck in his ways and as powerful as Erik could come around to the idea of being a better man, of being a pacifist instead of an aggressor, then maybe, just maybe, there was hope for the mutant race in a world of frightened humans.

Erik was still staring at Charles intently, but he seemed to sense he had won the argument. He rose to his feet, brushing dirt off his jeans. He held a hand out for Charles, who accepted it, and allowed Erik to pull him to his feet.

Charles rested a hand on Erik's shoulder.

"You are still injured, my friend. Are you sure you are ready for this?"

The metal bender nodded.

"I would not risk Raven's life or sanity if I weren't."

Had it been anyone else, Charles would have assumed they were lying. But Erik knew exactly what would happen if he failed to bring Raven home. He had been down that road, and it was only after a very long time that he steered himself off it. He would never put someone he cared about as much as he did Raven in a position like that. Erik was cruel and unforgiving to his enemies, but to his allies and friends—_family_—he would never fail them.

Charles nodded once.

"Bring her home, Erik."

* * *

><p>Orange flames cast an eerie glow on the inside of the building. The smoke was thick, making vision almost impossible.<p>

Charles coughed, his eyes watering as he lifted the collar of his shirt to cover his nose and mouth. Hank hadn't been wrong earlier, when he said the smoke alone would be enough to kill him.

But Charles couldn't give up on Erik, nor could he risk letting Cain walk away from this incident unscathed. For all the telepath preached about rising above things and refusing to sink down to the revenge level, he could not condone letting Cain walk free.

Erik's mind was like a homing beacon, drawing Charles to it. The telepath was grateful, for he couldn't see past the billowing smoke, and the strange shadows caused by the fire.

The metal bender was collapsed in an ungraceful heap on the ground a heart stopping too few yards away from a pile of a massive pile of burning wood.

"ERIK!"

Charles' voice was inhuman as the metal bender's name ripped itself out of his throat.

Blood was trickling down his friend's head and the taller man's eyes were closed. If it weren't for the rapid rise and fall of his chest, Charles would have thought him dead.

The telepath quickly crossed the room and crouched down beside Erik. He brushed his hand against the other man's, reaching out with his mind.

His heart nearly broke in two when he found the same mental blockade he'd discovered in Raven's mind.

_He was too late_.

There was a chuckle behind him.

"Admiring my handy work?"

Charles closed his eyes, counting slowly down from ten and attempting to gain his harsh, ragged breathing under control. He stood up, opening his eyes as he turned around.

A rather unimpressive looking man of medium height stood ten feet away against a dramatic backdrop of burning wood and swirling smoke. He was only a couple of inches taller than Charles, with military regulation brown hair, a round, hollowed face, and a crooked nose. His eyes were sunken, but their mud brown color held the same, malicious sheen as they did in Charles' memories and nightmares. He was dressed in a pair of camo pants, black combat boots, and a long-sleeve olive colored thermal shirt that was stained with blood.

Charles knew without a doubt that the blood belonged to both Raven and Erik. The grim knowledge added steel to his voice.

"Cain."

The synthetic mutant grinned, revealing crooked, yellowed teeth. He was entirely gruesome.

"You remember me, Charlie! How kind of you!"

The nickname had once been enough to send Charles into a mild state of terror, for it always preceded beatings and unspeakable tortures.

Now, it had the opposite effect. Charles straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin defiantly. All thoughts of Erik's mental state and overall wellbeing were pushed firmly out of his mind.

"It's kind of hard to forget the boy whose father almost killed you."

Cain sauntered forward until there was only about a foot of space between him and Charles. The latter resisted the urge to take a step back, knowing that's what the bastard wanted.

Even through the acrid smoke, it was impossible to miss the stench of rot and decay that clung to the synthetic mutant as he leaned forward, his face inches from Charles'.

"My father was only trying to figure out what made you _tick_. He never wanted you, but he wanted your powers for himself. But you killed him before he had the chance to figure it out."

The harsh reminder of what had happened all those years ago was still enough to make Charles flinch.

Cain's grin widened.

"Turns out, he didn't have a fucking clue as to what he was doing. But luckily for me, I found someone who did."

"Stryker."

"My, my, you have done your homework. Yes. Stryker figured out the key to both my father's and your research and created the ability to make mutants himself. And as you can see, it worked."

But it didn't work, not really. Charles could see that plainly now as he stood in front of Cain, with the fire creeping slowly toward them. Whatever it was that had been done to Cain had caused a severe reaction in the other man's body, causing it to literally rip itself apart. The work Cain had done to destroy Raven and Erik's mind had come at a terrible cost to himself.

Stryker had been looking for a way to destroy the mutants by using their mutations against them. He was looking for the ultimate power. And now his toy was falling apart and even if he wanted to, he couldn't fix it.

This was a suicide mission, as much as it was a combative one. Cain wasn't intended to come back from this.

In fact, Charles realized with heartbreaking certainty, Stryker intended for Charles to kill Cain. The man knew exactly what the agony of having to kill someone would do to Charles, and he had systematically wiped out the telepath's support system before doing it, too.

It was a beautiful strategy. Even as the man who suffered the most as a result of it, Charles could see and appreciate the brilliance and conniving that had gone into it.

_Check to Stryker._

Something stirred in the back of Charles' mind, like a bear waking up from hibernation.

And perhaps Stryker's strategy would have worked, had Stryker counted all of the elements. All of the players, so to speak.

The extra consciousness in Charles' mind blinked, taking in the sights.

Charles resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

_It took you long enough, Onslaught._

_My apologies, Charlie. I didn't realize you were planning on being suicidal _tonight_ of all nights_.

_Can you do anything to fix Erik?_

There was a noise akin to an exasperated sigh.

_I am not a healer, Charles. That's your job. I'll take care of _him.

If there was one thing Onslaught and Charles could agree on, it was their mutual hatred of Cain. While Onslaught had, in a sense, been created because of Kurt—and to a lesser extent, Cain—he had been imbued with enough of Charles' emotions about the two to foster his own hatred for them.

Cain was watching Charles carefully, clearly sensing something was up. By all reports of what had happened in the past, Charles should have worked himself into a righteous rage by now. Stryker—and thereby, Cain—held all the cards, didn't they?

Charles smiled serenely.

"Stryker's mutations didn't work. At least, not entirely."

Cain bristled, surprise and fear warring for domination on his face. Clearly, whatever plan he had worked out with Stryker hadn't included this scenario.

"You're lying! I'm far more powerful than you could ever imagine."

His eyes danced past Charles, to where Erik was still in an unconscious heap. Charles forced himself not to look, knowing that if he did, what little courage he had left would shatter.

Onslaught was fully awake now.

_Let me at destroy him._

_Not yet._

The timing had to be perfect. Too soon, and Charles would never figure out what Cain had done to Erik and Raven, thus losing them forever. Too late and Cain would destroy Charles. Because while Stryker had ordered him not to, Cain couldn't contain the hatred he had for his stepbrother, any more than Charles could really control his.

Charles swallowed hard.

"I'm not denying you are powerful. I'm saying that your powers are destroying you. You aren't going to win this fight, Cain."

It was a hard, undeniable truth. Even if it wasn't Charles or Onslaught that killed him, Cain wasn't going to walk out of this burning building alive.

In another life, Charles might have felt sympathy for him, the way he had once felt about Emma, Azazel, and Angel. The way he could have felt about Shaw, if the man hadn't turned Erik into a revenge-driven monster.

But that life was gone, along with whatever had made Erik, _Erik_. When Cain had erased Erik's humanity, he might as well have done the same to Charles.

Stryker knew that. He was counting on it.

Charles had exactly a split second before the synthetic mutant slammed into him. The sheer force of the other man's attack sent Charles sprawling to the ground, inches away from the flames.

He swore violently, kicking out with his legs and catching Cain's stomach with his feet. The shorter man cursed and staggered backward. Charles leapt to his feet, coughing as he inhaled a lungful of smoke.

Cain recovered all too quickly, barely giving Charles a chance to regain his footing before launching another attack.

Instinctively, Charles' fingers flew to his temple and he reached out with his powers.

Onslaught was already raring to go.

_Let me go_.

Charles mentally shook his head, slamming into a telepathic block that felt like glass. It wasn't time. Not yet.

He managed to briefly hobble Cain, just long enough for him to regroup and move away from the flames that were beginning to lick at his shoes.

Cain let out a harsh laugh.

"You're not as powerful as you think you are, Charlie!"

Charles renewed his telepathic attack. Onslaught let out a growl of frustration, which Charles studiously ignored. He had earned his chance for vengeance. Onslaught could wait a few minutes longer.

Cain's smile disappeared and he visibly struggled to repel Charles. While he had the same strange barrier in his mind that Charles had once encountered in Emma all those years ago in Texas, now it was almost easy to find the smallest chink in the armor and exploit the hell out of it.

It was funny, Charles considered grimly as he broke apart the shields Cain had so carefully put into place with help from Stryker's shielding serum, how easy it was to use his abilities when he just didn't _care_ anymore.

Cain sank to his knees, blood seeping out of his nose now. His eyes were squeezed shut and he was panting heavily.

_A few more minutes and he's dead._

Onslaught's voice stopped Charles in his tracks. He pulled his fingers away from his temple.

It was ironic, Charles' darker half stopping him from killing someone.

_Now, now, Charlie. You know as well as I do that I'm all for you killing him. But you want answers, first. Like if you can save that darling sister or Erik. _

_I know, Onslaught. Now shut up._

Cain was no longer laughing as he struggled to get to his feet. His brain, Charles knew, was barely held together. In the briefest moments that Charles had been in his mind, the former had destroyed a lot.

Not that there was much to begin with, outside of hate and cruelty.

The synthetic mutant glared at Charles, though the effort was costing him. There was a faint pressure in Charles' mind, one that he batted away easily.

"Still think I'm not as powerful you are, Cain?"

There was no answer.

Charles pressed on.

"Tell me how to fix Erik and Raven."

"You can't."

Cain let out a scream as Charles sent a lightning bolt of pain running through his already fragile mind. He sank to his knees, his hands clutching at his temples.

_Charlie…_

_Not yet, Onslaught._

Charles took a few steps forward.

"You took my family away from me, you bastard. Now you're going to give them back."

Cain shook his head.

"You don't get it, do you? There is no giving them back. I destroyed what made them who they are. And I don't regret it, either."

The punch that Charles threw landed squarely against the synthetic's mutant face, surprising both of them with the power behind it.

Cain chuckled breathlessly, which ended in a horrific cough.

"You thought all of your caring and your friendship was the way to win. Look where it's gotten you. Here, with me, where all you can do is hit me because there is nothing you can do to save the ones you care about."

Charles glared.

"I am better than you. I never destroyed the minds of my enemies."

Cain smiled darkly, blood staining his yellowed teeth as it dripped down from his nose.

"But you wanted to. You want to now. You want to reach into my mind and rip me apart. And you could do it. I doubt it would even be that hard for you. You've done it before. With my father."

Charles' hands twitched.

Cain continued.

"Oh, but you don't count that, do you? That was just an act of self-defense, an _accident_. You didn't mean to stop his heart. Not poor little _innocent_ Charles."

"Shut up."

Charles' voice was harsh and the telepathic influence in his voice was strong, though it wouldn't do anything.

Cain's grin widened.

"Touched a nerve, didn't I? Well, here's hoping I kill a few more before the end of the night."

Before Charles had the chance to even begin to think about what that meant, he was aware of strong arms wrapping around his waist and all but throwing him across the room.

He hit the ground _hard_, his breath forcefully knocked out of his lungs. Pain spiked in his ribs and head as they connected with the solid concrete floor.

Cain had returned to his feet, but Charles barely saw him as a pair of feet stepped in front of him. He slowly looked up, his heart ripping in two as his gaze rested on his best friend's once familiar face.

It was all too painfully clear now that Erik was no longer Erik. His grey-green eyes, once full of intelligence, affection, and most of the time, exasperation, were now almost fully gray, cold, and blank. The sharp planes of his face were like stone, hard and emotionless.

Charles' voice was a whisper. He knew what was going to happen, and he longed to be wrong.

"Erik, please."

The metal bender crouched down beside the telepath, and for the briefest of moments, Charles thought maybe Erik wasn't completely gone.

But then two strong hands were wrapping around his throat, slowly and painfully crushing down.

_Don't do this, Erik!_

The force of Charles' mental shout was weakened by the lack of oxygen, but it was enough to give the taller man pause.

Cain wasn't having any of that.

"Kill him."

There was enough telepathic influence in those two words to make a small army do his bidding.

Erik didn't even move.

Charles reached out tentatively, gasping for breath.

_Please, Erik. You have to remember who you are. _

Images of all the time they had spent together, from their first meeting in the waters of Miami, all the way through their goodbye only a few hours prior, flew through Charles' weak mental link.

Cain put up a miraculous fight, forcing memories he had created into Erik's mind.

The metal bender's confusion grew as he fought against both what Charles was telling him and what Cain was trying to order him to do.

_Erik. You are no man's puppet._

The pressure on Charles' throat lessened slightly, and then disappeared entirely as Erik let go, looking torn.

It was the sign Charles hadn't been letting himself hope for.

Charles didn't give Erik a chance to recover.

_Now, Onslaught!_

The sound of Cain's screams filled Charles' ears as his darker half took on an astral form and launched a terrible attack. The telepath barely saw any of it as he pulled himself unsteadily to his feet. Pain roared in his chest and head, threatening to send him to blackness.

He ignored it, grabbing Erik by the arm and starting to tow him to the entrance. Charles knew there was only a brief window of opportunity here before whatever Cain had inflicted returned and Erik was once more lost to him, perhaps forever.

A huge wooden beam crashed to the ground a few yards in front of them as the support structures of the building began to fail under the heat of the flames.

The force of the fall was enough to send Charles and Erik sprawling to the ground.

Swearing as the pain in Charles' ribs renewed its attack on his senses, he army crawled his way over to Erik, trying and failing at avoiding small patches of burning wood along the way. The metal bender was still conscious and in the process of standing up.

Charles pushed himself painfully to his feet as well, coughing as the smoke attacked his lungs.

Behind them, Cain's screams grew in intensity.

Charles didn't dare look into Onslaught's mind, fearing what he would find there. A small part of him felt immensely guilty for what was happening, but a look at Erik—who still remained only a ghost of his former self—was enough to quell any of that.

They were trapped, Charles realized. The burning beam had created a wall of flames, and the only clear way was the way they had come.

Charles had forgotten that he hadn't come alone.

There was a growl loud enough to be heard over the flames, followed by a nearby wall suddenly collapsing.

The flames doubled in size, fueled by the rush of oxygen brought in by the wall collapsing.

Charles stared dumbly at the collapsed wall, not entirely certain if the image of Hank shouting and motioning for him to come toward him was real or not.

The pressure of Erik's hand on his arm startled Charles into movement and together, they stumbled toward the exit.

They barely made it, collapsing into the cold, wet grass just as the flames engulfed the exit.

Behind them, Cain's screams continued to grow. Hank was nearby, demanding in a frantic, high pitched voice that didn't suit him if they were okay.

It was raining, too, and thunder and lightning were streaking across the sky.

Charles barely noticed any of it, for Erik's face was starting to morph into the cold, unrecognizable stranger's one.

As the smoke damage to his lungs and the pain in his chest and head started to make the world go black, Charles smashed his fingers against Erik's temples and dived into his mind.

He would be damned if he lost his best friend.

The world turned sharply to black.


	57. A Glimpse of the Future

_First off, I want to tell you guys that you are all the most amazing people on the face of the planet and I love you all so very, very much for all of the support you have given me. It's incredible, not only just in this story, but in all of my other recent works as well. So, thank you. I am very, very lucky for that._

_Secondly, as **thecatclouder** pointed out in their review and as I said once a million and one chapters ago, I was originally planning on linking up this story with the movies. And I did, sort of in this chapter. I don't want to give too much away, because I only just begin to go into that in this chapter and will touch on it at length in the next chapter, but I do have an explanation for everything. So. Here's the beginning part of it._

_Oh, and the end of this chapter is for **TheAngelofFate**. I hope this is what you're looking for. : ). _

_I hope you all enjoy this chapter; I have had this one planned for quite some time now, and I think it turned out mostly the way I wanted. So. Have fun._

**The Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 57: A Glimpse of the Future**

Raven was surprised that it took the better part of a month for there to be a knock at her hotel room door.

"Honestly, Charles, I was expecting you ages ago."

She pulled open the door, her mouth falling open in shock as she realized that it wasn't Charles on the other side of the door.

Erik smiled slightly. It wasn't a happy expression.

"Hello, Raven. Or should I say Mystique?"

Raven scowled.

"What are you doing here, Erik?"

"Is that any way to greet a friend?"

"Did Charles send you?"

"No."

The shape shifter knew Erik well enough to know when he was lying. Her scowl deepened.

"I'm not interested in peace, Erik. You of all people should know that."

"I'm not here for peace, Raven. I want to stop Azazel and Angel just as much as you do."

This was even more surprising.

"I'm surprised Charles let you of all people come, given your reputation."

Erik's smile turned feral. It was all teeth, and one that sent shivers down Raven's spine.

"As you know, I can be very persuasive."

Raven opened the door all the way.

"Come in."

* * *

><p>Sapphire blue waves crashed against the sandy white beach, as beautiful and as pristine as the last time Erik had visited.<p>

Well, truth be told, it was even better now that there wasn't a giant submarine crashed into the side of the beach, and there weren't a dozen naval warships in the water beyond the beach. Of course, that had all been almost thirty years ago, now. And the beach wasn't the only thing that had changed since then, either.

Erik closed his eyes, his mind drifting away from the beach and to the last place he had visited: Charles' grave.

It was a disgustingly large gravestone, placed beside Alex's and all the others' they had lost over the years. It wasn't what Charles would have wanted at all, despite his rather grandiose lifestyle.

The internal movie changed scenes to the telepath's last moments, getting ripped apart by Jean Grey. It was only the latest and last in a long line of times Charles had been hurt on account of Erik's brash actions.

A piece of metal caught his attention, shining in the sun. It was old, perhaps twenty or thirty years by the amount of rust that had been built up.

Erik reached and picked it up out of habit. It was as though the universe was desperate to play a cruel trick on him. He would recognize that scrap of metal anywhere.

It was the bullet he had once pulled out of Charles' spine.

Erik sank to his knees, burying his head in his hands with the bullet pressing up against his temple. It was as though a switch had been flipped in his mind, and suddenly, all of the grief he had been repressing for the past thirty years could be felt. It tore at his mind and at his heart, ripping him to shreds.

His breathing was ragged and he made no attempts to try to get himself under control as flashes of the past took control of his mind. Charles' scream of pain as the bullet connected with his spine, sending them down this spiraling path of despair. Raven—_Mystique _—turning from the young, naïve girl Erik had fallen for to a ruthless killer. A girl with hair colored like a skunk, crying out as Erik tried to force human kind to be mutants instead. Jean Grey, losing control of her powers completely, and almost destroying the entire world.

A harsh sob tore its way out of Erik's throat as he realized just how completely he had failed. All Charles had ever done was try to see the good in Erik, and the metal bender had ignored it completely, to the point where Charles had _died_.

"I'm sorry, Charles. I am so sorry, old friend. I never meant to cause any of this."

All he had wanted was safety for his mutant brothers and sisters, and instead, he had caused the death of one of the greatest men and mutants the world had ever known.

And the worst part about it was up until that moment, Erik hadn't cared.

He hated himself, in that moment. More than he had ever hated Shaw or Stryker or any of the countless others that had done wrong, for they hadn't done what Erik had. They hadn't killed Charles, the one chance the mutants had for peace.

It would be all too easy, Erik knew, to use that remaining scrap of bullet and drive it through his temple. He would never hurt anyone, ever again, and perhaps the mutants would have a fighting chance at peace after all.

If only his powers worked. But that had been another cruel twist of fate, with the humans shooting him with a plastic bullet loaded with the 'cure' they had found.

And now, all Erik could do was clench the crushed metal to his chest and reflect on how utterly he had failed the people he cared most about.

A tear slid down his face as he once more squeezed his eyes shut. He made no move to wipe it away.

There was a warm breeze, followed by a gentle pressure on his shoulder.

Erik froze, automatically reaching out with his powers, only to remember once more with painful clarity that he no longer had them.

He opened his eyes and looked up, stunned by who he saw in front of him.

It was Charles.

Only, it wasn't the Charles as Erik had remembered him in the last few years. No, this was Charles when Erik had first met him; young, vibrating with energy, hope, and _heart_. He had his hair, cut in the same boyish manner it had been during Cuba, with his blue eyes sparkling with compassion, and a sad smile quirking his lips.

"Erik."

Erik stumbled to his feet, not believing his eyes. This had to be some sort of dream, a hallucination perhaps. Maybe he had died.

Though, he reflected darkly, if he had died, he highly doubted he would have been let into heaven after everything he had done.

_"Charles?"_

The telepath nodded.

"Hello, old friend."

Erik stared, dumbstruck.

"Wh…how are you here? Forgive me, my friend, but you _died_."

Charles' smile, if possible, grew sadder.

"Yes. I did."

"Am I….?"

"Dead? Oh, heavens no. You, Erik, are very much alive."

"Then why are you here? _How_ are you here?"

"The how is not important. What matters is why."

He fell silent for a minute, his gaze drifting off to the ocean.

Erik internally sighed when it became obvious that his friend wasn't going to continue.

"Why are you here?"

The telepath looked back at him.

"You are blaming yourself for things that were beyond your control. And that path is only going to lead to more pain, more suffering."

"How could I ever possibly suffer more than I am already?"

That came out far more depressing than Erik intended, but it was the truth. He had lost _everyone_ he had ever cared about in his life, by his own hands more or less, and now he was completely alone.

Charles, unsurprisingly, heard that thought.

"You're not alone, Erik. You are not alone."

"Take a look around you, Charles. You're dead and the humans have taken from me everything I've remotely cared about."

He meant his powers, though upon further thought, Erik decided that Mystique might as well be lumped into that category, too. While he wasn't sure if he outright cared about her—he really hadn't cared about anything other than revenge for a long time—she had stuck by him without fail for decades.

And now, just like him, she was completely powerless, because of him.

Charles sighed.

"What happened to me was not your fault. No, listen to me. _It wasn't your fault_. I thought that I could handle Jean, that I could save her. My arrogance was my downfall. Not you."

"I pushed you into it."

"My friend, when have you ever been able to push me into doing something I don't remotely want to do?"

Erik opened his mouth to respond, but then snapped it shut as he realized that Charles was right. There was nothing on this planet that could make the telepath do something he didn't want to do. He was singularly stubborn like that.

"You're dead, Charles."

"I'm quite aware of that, Erik."

"But you're here."

"Do you think that I would have stopped believing in you, even after I died?"

The metal bender swallowed hard and looked away, unable to face the undeserved loyalty and pride that he had somehow always had from Charles and never once really cared about until now.

"Charles…"

"_Erik_. You haven't lost everything. Not really."

"My powers are _gone_. The humans took them."

"Did they?"

Erik looked back, confused. Charles was smiling at him again, only this time, it was more mischievous than sad.

"I haven't been able to access them since…."

That wasn't entirely true. There had been that one chess game after the battle in San Francisco, where he might have felt something stirring within him. But Erik had written off to his imagination, for it hadn't happened since.

Charles looked stubbornly proud of himself.

"Your powers have never abandoned you, Erik. The humans… they thought they figured out the key to blocking mutations, but they _didn't_. It's a placebo effect."

Erik thought of Rouge and Mystique and wondered how that could possibly be true.

Charles was still talking.

"Erik. Your powers are still there. You've locked them away, deep inside, but they're still there. You just have to open your eyes."

"My eyes are open, Charles."

The telepath shook his head.

"No, they're not. _Open your eyes, Erik._"

Erik closed his eyes for a moment.

When he opened them again, the beach was gone. In its stead was the backdrop of the smoking remains of a building with a frantic, very much alive _Charles_ leaning over him. His hair was plastered to his head by the driving rain, blood was pouring out of his nose and from a gash in his forehead, his face was chalk white, and his blue eyes were huge with terror.

"God damn it, Erik, open your eyes!"

Erik blinked, shocked when the scene remained the same.

"_C-Charles?_"

Good god, was that his voice?

Charles looked like he was about ready to pass out from relief.

"Erik!"

Before Erik really knew what was happening, the telepath was throwing his arms around him in a fierce hug. The metal bender sat stock still for a moment, entirely unable to move, before realizing that all of those horrific sights in the forefront of his mind had been a _dream_.

Charles was here. Charles was very much alive. And none of the terrible events had happened.

_Charles was alive_.

The thought ran on repeat in his mind and before Erik was ever fully conscious of making the decision to move, he was putting his arms around Charles and returning the hug just as fiercely.

If either of them were shaking violently from the sheer onslaught of their emotions, neither one of them said anything about it.

Charles was babbling, almost incoherently in Erik's ear—something about how he thought he had lost the metal bender for good and how he was very glad that Onslaught was in the process of murdering Cain—and while most of that was vaguely terrifying and would be addressed at a later date, all Erik could think about was just how fucking glad he was that none of that dream had been true. If there was a tear that made its way down his face, then Erik would later blame it on the rain.

He made a silent promise to himself that he was never going to leave Charles' side ever again.


	58. Arches and Coffee

_Um. Two chapters in like, less than twenty four hours? Damn. _

_Anyway, I know there were a lot of questions raised at the end of the last chapter, so here are some answers! And only a little cliffhanger. _

_I keep saying this, but we really are nearing the end of this story. Whether or not you believe it, we are. _

_And not only do you get two updates in a day, you also get some mostly naked Erik for your enjoyment. And a lot of Erik and Charles. A lot. Like, the two just wouldn't shut up, and honestly wanted to keep talking, but I figured this stopping point was as good as it was going to get._

_I cannot even begin to say how much your reviews mean to me. Thank you all so much! _

**The Perks of Being a Telepath**

**Chapter 58: Arches and Coffee**

Erik knew he should feel guilty for deceiving Raven like this. He knew that he should just come clean, tell her that he hadn't, in fact, betrayed Charles, and that he was here entirely on her brother's wishes.

But he didn't. She needed to work things out, come to the realization that killing wasn't the way to accomplish things, on her own. And she needed someone to watch her back that wasn't going to actually let her kill someone.

So, Erik became that person. He helped her figure out the best plan of attack, Azazel and Angel's strengths and weaknesses, and how they would both manage to get out of there alive.

It helped that this was the sort of thing Erik was good at. A lifetime of experience taught him how to strategize and he did his best to help Raven along.

She was far too trusting of his act to betray Charles, though. Erik didn't blame her for it—he had mentioned on several occasions how he wouldn't mind killing Azazel and Angel for all of the shit they had done—but it still rankled in ways that he couldn't even begin to explain.

They were taking a break from their planning and strategy sessions and had instead gone sight-seeing. Raven had ended up in St. Louis, Missouri, and so, they decided to go see the St. Louis Arch.

Raven was cautious enough to wear her blonde woman persona. And while Erik hated the fact that this was necessary, they could not afford to take any risks at this point in time.

She perched herself on a rail and fixed Erik with a steady look.

"I know you're not here to help me kill Azazel."

Erik blinked, surprised.

"Come again?"

Raven smiled knowingly at him, a look that she surely must have stolen off of Charles.

"I know that you're here because Charles wants me to come home."

"Don't be absurd, Raven. I've told you—I want Azazel and Angel gone as much as you do."

She shrugged.

"That may be true. But when it comes down to it, you're not going to kill them. And you're not going to let me kill them, either, are you?"

Erik leaned against the railing, folding his hands in front of him.

"No."

He had never really been able to lie to her. Not for long, anyway. She was too much like Charles in how she managed to finagle the truth out of him.

"I thought as much. Charles really has done a number on you, hasn't he?"

Erik couldn't argue. It was the truth.

"Your brother has saved me in more ways than I can count, Raven. I owe him the world."

Raven shook her head.

"Don't you think the best way to repay him would be to save his life? To keep him safe?"

"Charles is fully capable of keeping himself safe. He's done it for years without our help."

The words were altogether too harsh, a reminder of not only the months Raven had spent with Erik after Cuba when they had abandoned Charles at his weakest moment, but also of all the times Raven hadn't been there when Cain and Kurt had their way with her brother.

She looked away, but not before Erik could see the hurt on her face.

Erik sighed heavily.

"Raven, look at me. We are going to stop Azazel and Angel; we just aren't going to kill them."

"They _can't_ be stopped, Erik!"

"Yes, they can."

"You have been spending far too much time with Charles."

It was meant as an insult, but Erik found he didn't care.

"He taught me how to be the better man, Raven. His way is the right way. You know that—you've seen what happens when we go against that."

Raven growled.

"Charles is an idiot."

"Well, yes, but tell me, what exactly do you think is going to happen when you kill Azazel? Or Angel? The two people, outside of me and Charles, that you use to rely on and trust the most?"

She was quiet, clearly never having thought of this.

Erik pressed on.

"You think taking a life is easy. That killing someone that you believe deserves it is simple, because you have convinced yourself that it's the right thing to do. And maybe it is. But the guilt of taking someone's life is something you will have to live with for the rest of your life. It changes the very core of who you are, Raven."

"Do you feel guilty?"

Erik was confused.

"What?"

Raven stared at him intently.

"Do you feel guilty for killing Shaw?"

The honest answer was no. He didn't. He felt guilty for what his actions had caused—the pain Charles had to go through on account of it, the way that one action had destroyed everything that Erik had held dear to him—but he did not feel guilty for taking Shaw's life.

"That is an entirely different situation."

Raven snorted.

"You are so full of shit, Erik."

"_It is_."

"How? Angel and Azazel plan on doing exactly to Charles what Shaw did to your mother. How is my wanting to stop that from happening any different than your revenge?"

"Because Charles is still alive!"

The words were half-shouted, drawing attention from the crowds of people walking by.

Raven glared at him as he continued more quietly.

"You think you're trying to do the right thing, and I admire your courage, Raven. But Charles is alive, and your using what Shaw did as justification for your own actions is crass. Shaw was a monster and he needed to be stopped. Angel and Azazel are scared, running for their lives, and they don't know who they can trust. All they do know is that they think Charles is the reason for why they're in that position and they will do whatever it takes to rectify that. But they aren't monsters and they don't deserve to die for being scared. If you choose to take their lives after knowing that, then you are no better than they are."

It would hit Erik much later just how much he sounded like Charles in that moment. But for now, as he turned around and walked away, all he could think of was that he hoped Raven would listen to him. He knew she wouldn't, but he hoped she would.

It wasn't that surprising when he returned to their hotel room a few hours later to find that she had vanished.

_Damn it, Raven._

* * *

><p>How they made it back to the mansion, Erik wasn't entirely sure. He did vaguely recall practically having to carry Charles to a car because the telepath had been severely injured. And he did distantly remember being surprised as hell at the sight of <em>Alex<em> (but not Alex) at the entrance to the mansion.

But after that, it became a blur, because that was about the time Erik's body decided to shut down on him for all of the mental and physical hell he had been through, and he barely made it up to his room before he crashed.

He woke up on the floor, having been unable to make it to the bed, sometime later with the sound of rain pounding against the window panes. Erik blinked and sat up, groaning as his body protested the abuse.

He coughed violently, having still yet to recover from the pneumonia that had plagued him even before Cain. The smoke inhalation certainly hadn't helped.

Erik forced himself into an upright position, swearing softly as the world swam violently around him. He stumbled over to his dresser and pulled out a clean pair of clothes, before somehow managing to make it to the bathroom.

The hot water helped clear his head and enable him to breathe. Erik lost track of how long he spent underneath the glorious spray before he finally was able to think somewhat clearly. He killed the shower with a flick of his powers—a thrill of surprise and contentment running down his spine as he once more realized that those horrible memories of the future had been nothing more than a dream.

Steam billowed around him as he stepped out of the shower and pulled a towel around his waist. Erik paused by the sink to steady himself for a few moment; while the hot water had been relaxing, it did absolutely nothing for his vertigo problems. He took a couple of deep breaths before pulling on his change of clothes.

Unsurprisingly, Charles was sprawled across Erik's bed when he walked out of the bathroom a few minutes later. The telepath looked like complete shit, with dark circles underneath his eyes and his skin was entirely too pale, and his usually carefully styled hair was sticking up all over the place. He was still dressed in his clothes from the night before—_was it the night before? _Erik wondered—and he was fast asleep.

There was a mug of coffee on the night stand, one that was still steaming. The rich aroma made Erik's stomach growl.

He smiled slightly, knowing that he should probably be more upset with Charles than he was for Onslaught and Cain and, well, a lot of things, but Erik had never been able to be pissed off at the telepath for longer than a few hours anyway.

Erik gently pushed Charles over a few feet and sat down on the bed next to him. He couldn't resist the groan of relief that escaped his lips as he did so.

He picked up his coffee and sipped at it, waiting patiently. It wouldn't be long now.

Charles opened his eyes slowly, entirely unsurprised to find Erik sitting on the bed next to him.

"Good morning."

Erik gave him a rather toothy smile.

"Morning, sunshine."

Charles grimaced at him and sighed.

"Are you all right, my friend?"

That was a rather loaded question, all things considered.

"I'm okay."

Charles snorted.

"Sure you are. Because everyone who almost has their entire memory erased and then smashed back together less than twenty four hours ago is perfectly all right."

"Says the telepath who not only astrally projected last night, but also smashed my memory back together on top of breaking into a CIA facility and rescuing the second coming of Alex."

Charles blinked owlishly.

"I didn't claim to be okay."

Erik scowled.

"You are being singularly difficult, Charles."

Charles flashed a grin.

"Always."

He sobered.

"Erik. Are you sure…. Are you, well, you?"

To anyone else and in any other circumstance, the question would have been absurd.

Erik nodded.

"Thanks to you, my friend."

Charles let out a loud sigh, followed by a soft curse. He pressed his hand against his side, looking pained.

Erik was alarmed.

"Charles?"

The telepath shook his head, his breathing shallow.

"I had a run in with the floor last night, that's all. Nothing to be worried about."

It was pathetically obvious that Charles was hiding something, and it was borderline insulting that he thought he could actually get away with it.

Erik growled.

"Charles."

The other man gave a quick grin, but it vanished quickly and never reached his eyes.

There was something going on. Something big.

Erik tried again.

"Tell me what happened last night."

"I did."

Well, that was more or less the truth. Charles had given a rather hurried summary of what went down between Onslaught and Cain—who knew that Charles could astral project?—and that Charles had done some impressive telepathic trick, dived into Erik's brain, and somehow had managed to grab ahold of whatever little humanity Erik had had left after Cain tried so hard to destroy it, and push it back to the surface.

But there was a lot more that Erik knew he was missing, like what happened to Raven, what happened during the CIA mission, and how the hell Charles had wound up with what appeared to be broken ribs and a pretty nasty head wound.

The latter, of course, had been cleaned and stitched—probably by Hank—and was now hidden underneath a sporting white bandage that really did absolutely nothing for Charles' overall decrepit appearance.

Erik sighed.

"I'm not in the mood for playing games, Charles."

"That's why I didn't bring the chess board."

"Whatever happened, you can tell me you know. I'm not going to be angry."

Charles was quiet for a moment.

"It's not your anger I fear, Erik. It's your guilt."

Oh.

_Oh._

The only explanation for that was that _Erik_ had done this to Charles.

"Charles…"

"If you apologize, I swear I will punch you. You weren't yourself, Erik. _Cain_ did this. And he's gone now."

Erik honestly thought he was going to be sick. The memory he had had the night before then, of throwing Charles across the room, had been _real_.

_Schibe._

The metal bender closed his eyes.

"Thank you."

Charles' confusion was palpable.

"Come again?"

Erik opened his eyes and met Charles' intense blue gaze.

"Thank you. For saving my life. I don't know why you keep thinking I'm worth it… but thank you anyway."

A soft, sad look crossed Charles' face.

"You do the same for me, my friend."

It was true. They only had to look at the not too recent past for proof of that.

Which forcibly reminded Erik of one of the other things he was confused about.

"I thought Onslaught died after Stryker."

Charles swallowed audibly and looked away. When he spoke, he spoke to the wall.

"I should have said something about it sooner…. But he never really went away, Erik. Not that time, at any rate."

"And you never told anyone?"

"It didn't seem important at the time. I had him under control."

"Didn't seem… _Charles_. I thought you were over your suicidal tendencies."

The telepath looked back, his face hard.

"I had it under control, Erik. Besides, we needed him last night. I would never have been able to defeat Cain and save your life if it weren't for him."

"He damn near killed you the last time you set him free!"

"We were working together for a common cause this time."

"And you thought you could trust him?"

"I never once trusted him to do anything but destroy. And that's what he did. Onslaught killed Cain. He did what I could not, and in the process, he saved not only you, but myself as well."

It hit Erik then, what killing Cain would have done to Charles. The telepath had never fully recovered from killing Emma, and while Cain had fully deserved everything that he had gotten last night—and more—Erik knew that that reasoning would never have been enough for Charles.

He swallowed hard.

"You could have told me, Charles."

"I couldn't risk Cain finding out. It was almost not enough as it was. If Cain hadn't already slowly been falling apart, I don't think I would have been able to handle him, with or without Onslaught."

The fear in Charles' voice almost broke Erik's heart. Charles really wasn't scared of much, except losing those he cared about. And while he was not on his list of people he cared about, Charles knew exactly what would have happened had Cain proved too powerful and beaten Onslaught. Or if Onslaught had been too powerful and overcome Charles.

Erik put his coffee down on the nightstand.

"What happened to Onslaught? Where is he now?"

_Is he going to get loose again? Are you strong enough to beat him down once more?_

The questions were on the tip of the metal bender's tongue, but he didn't ask them, sensing that Charles would take that as Erik not trusting him, and that was the furthest thing from the truth.

Charles ran a hand through his hair.

"He's gone. For real this time. He and Cain mutually destroyed each other."

There was another lie wrapped up in those three sentences, one that Erik could sense. But the metal bender also heard the unspoken warning, the plea for him not to ask what the hidden story behind that was.

So Erik heeded it, for now, trusting that Charles would tell him about it when it became time to.

So he changed the subject.

"And Raven?"

He distantly remembered Cain talking about how he had destroyed Raven's mind, the same way he had almost succeeded in destroying Erik's.

Charles' broken expression said it all.

"She attacked me last night, when I came back here to look for you."

It was only then that Erik noticed the ring of bruises around Charles' throat and the slight rasp the telepath had that Erik had contributed to the smoke inhalation the night before.

"Charles…"

He wasn't sure what he was going to say. _I'm sorry_ didn't even begin to cover the grief that was slowly starting to take root in Erik's heart.

Charles closed his eyes and looked away again.

"She's in Hank's lab, downstairs. He's keeping her sedated for me until I can figure out a way to fix her mind. If there's a way to fix her mind."

Erik felt slightly reassured, knowing that if anyone could fix Raven, it would be her brother.

Charles glanced back, clearly hearing the optimism in Erik's mind.

"While that is very kind of you, Erik, I don't know if I can do it. She was completely gone and her mind is full of traps. If I set even one of them off, it could very well destroy her."

_And me_.

The mental thought was projected before the telepath could fully clamp down on it, which caused him to flinch.

Erik reached over and gripped Charles' wrist gently.

"I have faith in you, my friend. If there is a way to save Raven, you can do it."

_After all, you keep saving me, and God knows how you manage to do that._

"And if I can't save her?"

"Then we will accept her as she is."

"She wants to kill me."

"Everyone does. You should be used to this by now."

"_Erik_."

Charles' voice was lost and sad, heavy with the reality of what losing Raven would mean.

Erik understood.

"It's going to be okay, Charles. It's going to be okay."


End file.
